Scars and Scratches
by SolarRose29
Summary: As the anniversary of the Battle of Beruna approaches, a new danger threatens the reign of the Pevensies.
1. Chapter 1

Okay, so I realize most people have moved on from the Narnia fandom. But I'm going to post this story anyway because the Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe movie is still one of my favorites :)

If anyone actually does read this, and has questions about anything, don't hesitate to ask!

The title is from the song Mountain Sound by Of Monsters and Men

* * *

"You'll never guess what nonsense Tumnus was spouting this morning," Edmund began conversationally, leaning against one of the posts of Peter's bed.

Peter glanced up from the bag he was packing. "What did he say?"

"He made the most outrageous claim," Edmund continued casually.

"Fauns are prone to exaggeration but Tumnus is no liar," Peter said.

Edmund swung around the post and threw himself into a seat on the mattress, jostling Peter's belongings. "I asked him when we were leaving and he said I wasn't going. That I had been ordered to stay here, in Cair Paravel, while the high king goes traipsing through the forest after the most dangerous Wraith known to man or beast."

"Edmund-" Peter started.

But Edmund pressed on. "And then, when I asked him under whose authority I was being grounded, do you know what he told me? He said it was yours. And I knew then there just had to be some mistake. Because I know my brother and he wouldn't leave me behind." Once he was finished speaking, he gave Peter a hard look. "I don't know whether he was playing some kind of a game or if he was just confused or misinformed, but it's not right for him to use your name like that."

Peter sighed. "Tumnus is right, Ed. You're staying here."

Edmund pulled back, as if reeling from a physical assault. Peter quickly glanced away. Abruptly, the younger boy collected himself, drawing his shoulders into a high, tight line.

"Why?" he demanded.

Peter ignored him, focusing on his preparations.

"Why can't I go, Peter?" Edmund asked. "I've accompanied you on scores of these Fell hunts."

"This one isn't going to be like the others, Ed," Peter pointed out, still refusing to look at him. "All the reports we've been given indicate that this creature was one of the Witch's most powerful followers."

"But have I not proven myself a worthy warrior in battle?" Edmund insisted.

"The bravest in the whole army," Peter agreed.

"Is not my skill with a sword impressive?" Edmund continued.

"It is," Peter conceded.

"Then why would you leave me behind?" Edmund questioned impatiently.

Peter remained mute. With a frustrated growl, Edmund launched himself off the bed and crossed his arms. "Do you not trust me?"

"Of course I do," Peter immediately responded. "I trust you with my life, you know that."

"Then why must I stay behind?" Edmund shouted.

Peter spun around and grabbed him by the shoulders. "Because I don't trust myself with your life!"

Stunned into silence by Peter's uncharacteristic outburst, Edmund stood motionless in his grasp. A moment later, Peter slumped, releasing him and turning away.

"I can't protect you," he explained, sounding unnaturally weary. "Not like I should." He scrubbed a hand down his face before facing Edmund once more.

"What's wrong, Peter?" Edmund asked quietly, recognizing his brother's distress. "I haven't seen you this upset since…" he trailed off, realization creeping over him.

"It's been a year," Peter murmured. "A year since you were almost killed." He carefully lifted the edge of Edmund's shirt, pulling it up just far enough to see the jagged scar on his abdomen. Reverently, he reached out as if to touch it. But his fingers never made contact, hovering just above the raised white line.

Edmund gently reclaimed his shirt from Peter, and the scar was covered once more. Peter's eyes never left the spot where it was, even hidden beneath the fabric. "By the grace of Aslan, I yet live."

With a shudder, Peter said, "And only because of that. It was a close call. Too close."

Edmund frowned. "Don't you believe Aslan could give grace again?"

Ashamed, Peter looked down. Edmund softened his tone for his next words.

"There are four thrones. Aslan wanted them filled and He'll keep them that way as long as He wills." He ducked his head to catch Peter's eye. "Besides, you can't keep me locked up in here forever. Something can just as easily get me in the Cair as out there. A statue could fall on me. Or a stray javelin may hit me while the Centaurs are training. Or I might even choke on my dinner." At Peter's reluctant chuckle, Edmund smiled. "You never know, Pete." Knowing that Peter's resolve was wearing down, Edmund sobered to present the final part of his argument. "Aslan gave me the Western Woods to rule. How can I sit idly by while my kingdom is in danger?"

Peter met his gaze squarely and finally gave him a firm nod, which Edmund returned.

An hour later, the two kings were dressed, mounted on their royal steeds, and riding with a select band of Narnia's choicest warriors toward the Western Wood. The midmorning sun cheered them on their way, shining gayly in the sapphire sky. Animals greeted them as they passed, Birds chirping from the clouds, Squirrels from leafy branches, even sleepy Badgers poking their noses from their burrows. Despite the gravity of their mission, the military entourage was in high spirits. Many of the soldiers expected to be returning, victorious, in less than a week, so long as the fair weather held. After a brief halt for lunch, the company continued on their journey. They had traveled only a few more leagues before they met their guide.

"Mr. Fox," Peter greeted.

"Your majesties," he returned, dipping into a bow, first to Peter and then to Edmund.

"Any news of our quarry?" Oreius asked.

"Nothing more than the excited chatter of Quicktwig. But, as everyone knows, Squirrels, despite their good intentions, are not the most reliable source of information," Fox said with a smirk.

"Indeed," Oreius agreed. "How far until we reach the last reliably known sighting?"

"Three days' ride hence, I believe," Fox said.

"Then pray, good cousin, lead on." Peter gestured with his hand.

Fox nodded and took a step forward before stopping to turn his head over his shoulder. "Only beware, sire, for Wraiths can take the form of any creature they choose."

Edmund frowned. "Then how are we supposed to know when we've found it?'"

"All we can do is hope to catch it before it changes form," Fox replied.

"That's not a very comforting thought," Edmund muttered.

The afternoon was filled with the mundane monotony of rhythmic hoofsteps, the creak of leather, occasional conversation, and the unsullied beauty of nature. Gradually, the sun sunk beneath the horizon and the troop found a clearing in which to make camp. After an easy meal of bread and cheese, the night watch was assigned and bedrolls were set out. The mild summer night was comfortable and Edmund was content to stretch out beneath the leafy boughs of the surrounding forest. The Dryads giggled, whispered, and played inbetween the tree trunks, and he couldn't help but smile along with them. It wasn't every day that half of Narnia's monarchs camped out with a military band, and the Trees were giddy with excitement. With the gentle breeze caressing his face, the small campfire snapping away cheerfully, and Peter resting on the ground nearby, Edmund was soon asleep.

It was a quick matter of starting again on their way in the morning. The Dryads eagerly provided them with a breakfast of berries and edible plants. As they served the Narnian army, stray petals seemed to be constantly, and coincidentally, brushing across Edmund's cheeks, his hair, his arms. Peter was much more amused by this than his brother, although Edmund gracefully and honorably endured the Trees' blushing promises that such contact was purely accidental. The second day of the journey passed much as the first had.

The sun was high in the sky, bathing the woods in a green tint as it filtered through the leaves, when Peter remarked, "I'm not sure how much longer I can take this."

Edmund twisted around in his saddle to face him. "Take what?"

"This." Peter gestured widely to encompass the thick canopy of limbs above them and the wall of trees on either side of the maintained path. "All the trees and the shadows. Not being able to see anything beyond the first line of trunks."

Philip snickered. "Your highness probably should have thought of that before he insisted on leading this hunt."

Oreius stamped out his next step harder than necessary. "Mind your tone when you address the high king."

"It's alright," Edmund assured them. "Philip didn't mean any disrespect. He was merely expressing a valid point."

Peter rolled his eyes.

"Besides, I don't see what there is to complain about," Edmund continued with a sly gleam in his eye. "What's so bad about the tightly packed trees? And the gloom that could have anything lurking in it? There's no way to know, really, what's hiding just around the next bend in the road. No way to see the bloodthirsty monster sneaking up behind you, ready to pounce on you and sink its teeth into your skin and rip your beating heart from your chest-"

"Edmund, stop," Peter groaned, the graphic description doing little to quell his claustrophobia.

Philip willingly picked up the narrative for his rider. "Exactly. Who needs fresh air and a glimpse of the sky every now and then when you're practically blind and forced to keep to a single path?"

"Hush, Philip." Edmund suddenly straightened in his seat.

"I didn't mean to scare you as well," Philip complained.

"No, I mean it. Do be quiet, all of you," Edmund snapped.

Recognizing the urgent tone in Edmund's voice, Peter held up a hand, bringing the company to a halt. "What is it, Ed?" he questioned softly.

Edmund didn't answer right away, head swiveling slowly from one side to the other. "Do you hear that?"

The whole battalion strained their ears. Finally, after not identifying any unusual sounds, Peter asked, "Hear what?"

"Exactly." Edmund turned to him with a grim expression on his face. "I can't hear anything." At the confused expressions he received from his audience, he elaborated, "Why aren't the Birds singing? Where are the Squirrels and the like?"

Philip shifted uneasily. "It is not uncommon for Animals to gather at someone's house for tea," he suggested. "Perhaps they're not in this part of the forest at the moment."

Edmund held up a finger. "But what about the insects?" Again, the soldiers listened to what they could now recognize as an unnatural silence. "Don't dismiss an insect's wisdom just because it can't Speak," he sagely advised. "Something scared them off or drove them out."

Peter's hand drifted to the sword at his hip, while Fox scented the air.

"You are right, my lord," Fox said. "It is yet a ways off but the scent of Evil is thick in this place."

"Look sharp then," Peter said, addressing the company as a whole.

The mood turned sober and the soldiers were appropriately serious, gripping their weapons tighter. Fox led them further down the path, pausing every now and then to sniff out his quarry. Edmund twisted the reins in his hand, trying to relieve the tension coiling in his muscles. Finally, Fox stopped. He took a step to the left, nose in the air. Then he put his snout to the ground and took a step to the right.

"Which way, good cousin?" Peter asked.

Fox sighed. "My deepest apologies, highness, but I can not tell. It must be very close for the scent is so strong I am having trouble distinguishing a specific direction from which it is originating."

Peter frowned and exchanged a worried glance with Edmund. "How could it be this close to Cair Paravel? We are less than two days' ride from the castle. One, if the rider is swift."

"It is bold indeed to come so close," Oreius said.

"Bold or foolish?" Philip murmured.

"Either option is dangerous," Oreius countered.

Peter dismounted and tethered his horse to the closest tree branch. "Alright. Spread out and search the area."

The soldiers obediently split into groups of three or four and headed into the treeline. Edmund climbed off Philip, much to the Horse's dismay.

"Must you go on foot?" he questioned.

Edmund patted him reassuringly. "You and I both know it's easier to move through the trees this way."

"True. But I don't have to like it," Philip said.

"Just keep an eye out for anything suspicious here on the road," Edmund said.

"Be careful," Philip called after him, as Edmund moved into the treeline.

"Yes, mum," Edmund shouted back.

As soon as he left the path, it seemed as though the forest grew darker. The large trees stood like unmovable pillars, glaring down at him. His banter with Philip had delayed him and the other groups had already moved further away, leaving him behind, though he could hear the muffled noise of their progress. The stillness of the usually lively woods unsettled him, prickling his skin into gooseflesh and raising the hairs on the nape of his neck. Even the sound of his soft footsteps was swallowed in the strange silence. He pushed forward resolutely, hand curled around the hilt of his sword, ready to draw it in a second if needed. His breathing was shallow, almost as if the air was too thick to allow for normal respiration.

A flicker of movement in the corner of his eye drew him deeper into the trees, away from the direction the others had gone. He followed the inexplicable prodding in his mind that told him he was heading the right way. His steps led him to a place where the ground fell away steeply to one side, forming a sort of ravine. He paused, searching the area. Then, he spotted it, a dark smear of shadow against the forest's gloom. He smoothly drew his sword, the scrape of metal on metal ringing dully. Taking a deep breath, he crept closer. The shadow moved, revealing two burning eyes as it separated from the surrounding murkiness. Edmund tensed, watching the Wraith. It drifted closer, a shapeless vapor of black, shifting beneath a tattered dark cloak. He could smell it now, a choking tang of rot and decay. It hovered in front of him, roiling like a forming thundercloud. Edmund curled his fingers tighter against the grip of his weapon, assessing his enemy.

Without warning, the Fell lunged at him. Edmund stumbled back. The ground disappeared from beneath his feet, and he tumbled over the edge. Direction lost meaning as his body flipped over and over down the side of the ravine. His limbs banged against a number of sharp stones and fallen tree branches, leaving him with numerous scrapes and bruises. Finally, he hit the bottom, impacting the ground hard. With a groan, he pushed himself to his hands and knees. The Wraith swooped down toward him. Edmund scrambled to his feet, and realized he had lost his sword when he'd fallen. It glinted where he had dropped it, halfway up the hillside. Weaponless, he could only roll out of the way as the creature came at him. It sliced through the air where he had been only a second ago. Edmund jumped up, prepared to face it again. But it was nowhere to be seen. He quickly scanned the air above him and the area around him, but he could find no sign of it. Warily, he waited for it to show itself.

A twig snapped behind him and he spun on his heel, fists raised. From behind a tree stepped a boy with dark hair and a wicked smirk. Edmund froze in surprise, taken off guard by the monster with his face. The imitation of him flickered, dispersing into the robed figure before coming back into the shape of Narnia's youngest king. Edmund stared in fascination as the copy of him grinned with teeth that looked like his, flexed hands that looked like his, moved feet that looked like his. Then he set his jaw and jumped at the creature. It swerved away from him, diving to the left as he came at it. Edmund regained his balance, pivoting on his heel to throw a punch into its face. His fist went straight through, leaving him gaping. The Wraith smiled with his lips, its ethereal form impervious to his physical strikes. Determined, Edmund kicked out, planting his foot where it mimicked his torso. But again, he was met with empty air, causing him to fall to the forest floor. He spat out a mouthful of dirt, quickly flipping onto his back to glower at the beast. It snickered, the noise a combination of clattering rocks and a throaty growl.

Edmund scrambled away from it, clawing his way through the fallen leaves in an attempt to reach his sword in the hopes that steel could accomplish what his flesh couldn't. He was nearly to the place where his sword lay when the Wraith snatched his ankle, its touch damp and cold. He struggled, trying to wrench his foot away from it. It clung to him, tugging him back down the ravine. Desperately, he stretched his fingers, straining to reach his blade. He could just barely touch it, felt the reassuring solidity of metal beneath his questing grasp before he was yanked backward. He was once again plunged into a dizzying descent until his head struck a rock and consciousness fled him.

When he came to, he wasn't sure he had even opened his eyes. It was dark all around him and he was overcome with panic at the thought that he had lost his vision for good. The idea of going through life blind was terrifying. But then he remembered that nothing happened to him outside of the Lion's will. As soon as Aslan entered his mind, a sense of peace soothed his panic, allowing him to approach the situation rationally. He took several deep breaths, the air stale and unappealing, but it helped clear his brain and allowed him to take stock of his surroundings. The surface beneath him was hard and cold, easily identifiable as stone, leading him to the conclusion that he was in some sort of cave. A crude rope of twisted vines bound his wrists behind his back. The same rough material also restrained his feet. Carefully, mindful of his battered body, Edmund pushed himself into a sitting position, propped against the rock wall behind him. Just as he was testing the strength of his bonds, a fire burst into life in front of him. He turned his face away from the sudden light, blinking at the unexpected brilliance. When his eyes adjusted, he was able to make out the shape of his captor. The Wraith was still in his form, although it frequently oscillated between the human shape and its natural vaporous state. It was disturbing to watch his own face disintegrate into a featureless void, broken only by two smoldering eyes, gleaming an angry red in the firelight, only to harden into pale skin stretched tight over bone. It loomed over him, and he resisted the urge to shrink away from it.

"I neeeeed blood," it hissed, a terrible grating whisper. "Your blood." It reached out a hand, fingers grotesquely extended in greedy anticipation.

Edmund avoided looking at the distended digits, casting his gaze elsewhere. "Then why haven't you killed me yet?"

"Yesss, blood," it croaked, rasping and inhuman voice strange coming from his face.

"You said that already," Edmund pointed out.

It flickered, dispersing into shadow before coalescing into a human body. Gliding to the other side of the cave, it retrieved something from a hollow crevice in the rock face. When it came closer, Edmund could see the object held in its hand. It was an ancient dagger, crooked blade catching and absorbing the light of the fire. The Wraith crawled across the cave to where Edmund sat, mouth twisting in malicious anticipation. The king pressed himself further against the wall, trying to put distance between himself and the glinting knife.

"The sssspell requires blood," the Fell creature lisped in its horrible non-voice.

"What spell?" Edmund questioned, fear coiling in his belly.

"Then you will belong to meee," it moaned hungrily.

Edmund straightened his shoulders. "I belong to no one but Aslan."

At the name of the Great Lion, the Wraith recoiled, humanoid illusion shattering to reveal the writhing tendrils of darkness beneath. It shrieked and spat, before reforming into a ghostly version of Edmund.

"Your cat can't sssave you now," it sneered angrily, raising the dagger and seizing his chin.

Despite his frantic struggles, it carved a gash across his right cheekbone. The blade was a firebrand against his face, searing heat spread through the sliced skin, igniting the nerves beneath the surface. He cried out, bodily throwing himself out of its grip. It snarled, yanking him upright again. With a crushing grip, it held him immobile with one hand, dropping the dagger from the other to dig freezing fingers into the cut. Fresh blood ran from the incision, spilling down the curve of his cheek. It cupped its hands beneath his jaw to catch the sanguine liquid. Free at last, Edmund scrambled away, as best he could with bound limbs. His cheek was a pulsating mess of blistering hurt and he squeezed his eyes shut, panting through the worst of the pain. When he finally opened them, he could see that the Wraith was no longer flickering, its form solidifying until he saw himself standing there, blood dribbling down his chin. Disgusted and horrified, Edmund came to the realization that the creature had planned this in advance. It could have picked anywhere to appear in Narnia. It could have picked anyone to imitate. But it had selected his woods, chosen his body to steal.

"Why me?" he asked, words roughened by pain.

The thing grinned, teeth stained red. And when it replied, it had Edmund's voice. "What better way to get revenge for my Mistress than to betray the traitor?"

Edmund shivered, flinching away from the monstrosity. It smirked at him, enjoying his fright. With a glance over its shoulder at him, it returned to the crevice in the wall and withdrew a necklace. The chain was a simple one, made of silver. It had no jewel for a pendant, but rather a small glass vial. It slunk back over to Edmund and scraped the vial up the injured side of his face, collecting blood in the glass. When it was full, the Wraith snapped the vial closed and slipped the necklace over its head, tucking the chain and vial beneath the collar of its shirt.

"You'll never succeed. Peter will come looking for me," Edmund mustered.

"Unless he's already found you," it chuckled darkly, moving to the other side of the cave and picking up what Edmund recognized as his sword, leveling it at his chest.

With a sharp gasp, Edmund anticipated the strike that would end his life. But the Wraith only brought the hilt crashing into his temple, sending him into unconsciousness once more.


	2. Chapter 2

Wow! Thank you to everyone who reviewed, favorited, and followed this fic! I am blown away by the response I've received. You are all amazing people :)

This story is completely written (it's actually one of the few finished works on my laptop) and I hope to update on Sundays and Wednesdays.

* * *

Peter sprinted through the woods, scanning the trees for any sign of his brother. The closely arranged trunks hindered his progress, making it difficult to move quickly.

"Edmund!" he called for the hundredth time.

The forest absorbed his voice, not allowing it to reach farther than the line of trees directly in front of him. He sighed in frustration, running a hand through his hair before turning to Fox.

"I don't suppose you can pick up his scent?" he asked.

Fox shook his head. "I wish I could tell you otherwise but, unfortunately, I can smell only the prevailing stench of death that all Fell creatures have hanging about them."

Peter bit his lip. "I should never have let him talk me into bringing him along."

"He can be very persuasive, can't he?" Fox chuckled.

"You have no idea." Peter smiled ruefully.

They met up with another group, led by a Satyr.

"Anything?" Peter asked.

"We have found nothing regarding the Wraith or King Edmund," the Satyr bleakly reported.

"Shall we regroup, your highness?" Fox questioned. "Perhaps make haste back to Cair Paravel and return with a larger search party?"

"No!" Peter immediately snapped. "I won't leave my brother out here alone, possibly hurt. Not with that monster still at large."

Fox lowered his head submissively but continued his argument. "I intended no disrespect, sire. But the sun waits for no one." He flicked his eyes up to the leafy ceiling of the woods, where already the light was waning as evening descended. "If you do not intend to ride for the castle, we should at least make camp."

Peter glanced anxiously at the decreasing daylight. "Send scouts ahead to find a suitable place to spend the night. But I would make one more sweep of the area before the sun truly sets."

"Yes, your highness." Fox bowed and scampered off to relay the orders.

Determined, Peter squared his shoulders, and moved further ahead. His thoughts spun rapidly in his brain, spiraling into an agitated jumble of nervous doubt. What if he couldn't find Edmund? What if something had happened to him? What if history was only repeating itself in a morbid cycle? Last year, when they had first entered Narnia, Peter had been unable to protect Edmund. He wasn't alert enough, smart enough, strong enough. What if the same thing happened again? What if Peter found him lying on the ground somewhere, bleeding? Dying? What would he tell their subjects, who already loved the Just king as much as their other rulers? How would he tell the girls? Susan would try to take the news bravely, tears shimmering in her eyes as she forced herself to keep her emotions in check. But Lucy would sob, openly weeping for her beloved brother, and Peter wasn't certain he would be able to handle their grief on top of his own. And, oh, how could he ever face Aslan, knowing he had let Him down in the worst possible way? Aslan had given him his siblings to watch over, to care for and to protect. To allow harm to come to any one of them would be treason against the Great Lion.

A shudder ran the length of his body and Peter had to stop. Had to take a moment to collect his strength, to rein in his tumultuous speculations. He leaned his forearm against a nearby tree and pressed his forehead into it, the soft material of his sleeve easily soaking up the sweat from his brow. Squeezing his eyes closed, he sent a prayer to Aslan.

Please, let me find Edmund. Let him be whole and well. I can't lose him. Please, Aslan. Please.

A gentle breeze blew over him, scented with fresh earth, like life and hope, and Peter felt a new strength enter him. As soon as he pushed himself away from the tree, he spied the clue he had been looking for. To his right, there were signs of a struggle. Trampled ground, broken branches, flattened grass. The trail led down the edge of the ravine. Breathing out a simple sigh of gratitude, Peter skidded down the incline, anticipation warring with nervousness for what he would find at the bottom.

The floor of it looked similar to the side, disturbed by the fight that must have taken place. Peter swept his eyes across the length of it, but could not see Edmund. Unwilling to be discouraged by the apparent absence of his sibling, he crouched and examined the tracks more closely, taking comfort in the fact that there was no trace of blood. As he was analyzing the evidence, he sensed a presence in front of him. Startled by the sudden arrival of another, Peter fell back onto his rear and stared up. Then his face split into a grin and he launched himself to his feet.

"Edmund!" he exclaimed, wrapping his arms around the younger boy. After only a second, he released him to grip him by the shoulders. "What were you thinking? You scared me, running off by yourself and falling down a ravine like that. Do you mean to turn me grey before my twentieth birthday?" He shook him a few times to emphasize his point.

Edmund merely shrugged. "I can't exactly help where I slip, you know. It's not as if I did it on purpose."

Peter frowned. "It's not like you to be so careless."

"I thought I saw something," Edmund defended. "But it was only the edge," he ended in a playful grin.

"Are you hurt?" Peter demanded, trying to visually assess him.

Edmund squirmed out of his arms. "Get off. It was only a tumble down the hill. I've had worse."

"So you have," Peter muttered absently, finding no major cause for worry. "Alright. Come on, you." He snagged Edmund's wrist and started tugging him up the hill. "We've got to get back to the others. We've already been gone so long, Oreius is probably ready to chop the whole forest down to find us."

Edmund chuckled and the sound warmed Peter. The sun was nearly gone, but the campfire the Narnian soldiers had made acted like a beacon, guiding the kings to their company. When they stepped into the clearing, there was a loud cheer sent up for them.

"My lords, I am happy to see you both returned unharmed. And King Edmund, we are all pleased to find you no longer missing," Fox greeted them.

"Thank you," Edmund replied vaguely, eyes fixed on the fire.

"Bring food for the kings," someone called.

A moment later, breads and dried meats were being offered to them. Peter gratefully accepted his portion, wasting no time in consuming it. Edmund however, refused, much to Peter's concern.

"I'm just tired," Edmund excused.

Peter's worry was not allayed by the reasoning, but he didn't press the issue. When asked about his orders for the morning, he expressed his desire to divide the men. "A few will escort myself and my royal brother to the Cair. The others will remain here in the Woods, continuing the search for the foul beast. I will send reinforcements directly."

"Hold up now. Who says I'm to be escorted back like some errant child?" Edmund protested. "Why can't I stay and help?"

"Because I need to get you home, safe and bundled up in warm blankets where the worst that can happen is you burning your mouth on hot soup," Peter said.

"It's the middle of Summer!" Edmund complained.

"You know Susan and Lucy, though. Their caregiving knows no season," Peter winked.

Edmund groaned.

After an early start in the morning and an increased pace, the monarchs were riding into Cair Paravel's courtyard a couple hours before the evening meal. Their subjects were surprised to see them returned so soon. Peter enlisted the help of a nearby Sparrow to spread the word of the needed search party, and to ask for volunteers. When the Bird asked whether it should bring word to his sisters of his arrival, Peter declined in favor of telling them himself. Once he was finished with the messenger, he dismounted and Edmund followed suit.

As they turned to head into the castle, Philip called after him, "You may wish to bathe before supper, King Edmund. You reek of a Fell hunt."

Edmund glared at him. "Why does he single me out? You were there too and you smell ten times worse than I do."

Peter laughed. "Apparently not. Didn't you notice how he was acting around you the whole trip back?"

Edmund switched his glare to Peter. "You're not helping."

"Don't tell me Mr. Beaver's infected you with his bath-phobia," Peter snickered.

"That's not even a real condition!" Edmund argued.

"Then you have no reason not to get cleaned up," Peter countered, giving him a playful shove in the direction of his bedchamber.

Edmund muttered something indistinct beneath his breath but stomped away to his quarters anyway. Shaking his head fondly, Peter watched him until he took a corner and was lost to his view. No longer distracted, Peter set about finding his sisters. He found Susan first, although it was more a chance encounter than anything else. As he was traveling one of the many corridors of the first level, he came up behind her as she was walking with Willowbrow, the Dryad in charge of housekeeping, and Hiln, the head cook who had come from Archenland with a glowing recommendation from King Lune. Willowbrow noticed his approach and opened her mouth but Peter put a finger to his lips and she immediately went back to her conversation with Susan as if she hadn't seen him. Employing every bit of stealth training the Cheetahs had imparted to him, Peter crept up behind his sister.

"Of course, if the Calormen delegation elects to stay for the anniversary festivities," Susan was saying, "we're going to need additional-"

The gentle queen interrupted herself with a shriek when she felt a cold finger poke her neck beneath her long tresses.

She whirled on the offender with a severe look on her face, only for it to melt into a happy smile. "Peter! What on earth are you doing here?"

"There were complications," Peter replied vaguely. Susan frowned so he took her hand reassuringly. "It's nothing for you to worry about. You have enough on your mind as it is."

She sighed. "Yes. It's just with the Calormen ambassadors, and the First Year of Beruna, I've got so much to sort through. Chamber assignments, menu planning, leisure activities, musicians, decorations, invitations-"

"And you will handle it beautifully, I have no doubt," Peter assured her wholeheartedly, dropping a quick kiss to the back of her hand.

"You flatter me just so I won't bother you with the details," Susan accused with faux indignation.

"I speak the truth!" Peter insisted. "And if the truth happens to give me an escape from the tedium, I can only say that I am indeed blessed by the stars," he finished impishly.

"If you're not going to help, then at least stay out of the way," Susan teased lightly.

"Gladly," Peter said, releasing her hand and hurrying down the hallway.

"Lucy's out in the gardens," Susan called after him.

He thanked her over his shoulder as he went to the place she had indicated. Lucy was in the gardens, just as Susan had said. Peter wondered what she was up to though, as he watched her scampering through the neatly trimmed bushes and carefully cultivated flowers, overturning leaves and peering beneath branches.

"I say, Lu, have you lost something?" he shouted to her.

Her head flew up and a grin took over her round face. "Peter, Peter, you're back!"

She sprinted over to him and threw her arms around his middle. He returned her embrace before repeating his question.

"No! Well, yes. Sort of. In a manner of speaking," she said.

"That's not a very clear answer," he pointed out.

"I'll explain." She clutched his hand and tugged him further into the garden. "I'm playing hide-and-seek with Dustlekey's adorable children."

"Ah. You wouldn't happen to be looking for those three adorable Hedgehogs behind the fountain, would you?" Peter tipped his chin in their direction.

"Peter, you're too good at this game!" Lucy exclaimed.

"I've had lots of practice." Peter winked at her. "Alright, Lucy, I'd better go on back in. I'm sure I've got plenty of work to catch up on."

"Won't you stay and play another round with us?" Lucy begged, scooping up the little Hedgehogs and tilting her head to the side with the sweetest expression on her face. "Please?"

Never able to say no to his precious baby sister, Peter was helplessly drawn into the second game. And a third. And one after that. And another and another until the Mole who kept the gardens politely requested they take care not to trample the dirt or crush the flowers. So it was that Peter and Lucy returned the children to their mother, and then found themselves being scolded by Susan for the grass stains on their clothes. They were told they would receive no dinner until they were presentable for said meal. Naturally, such an ultimatum necessitated Peter and Lucy to engage in a race to see who could get to their chambers and change first. However, such a game resulted in a large tear near the bottom hem of Lucy's dress and both Pevensies hastily agreed to keep the misfortune a secret between the two of them. The victim of their lively fun was stuffed beneath Lucy's bed, in order to silence it and the story it bore evidence to. Fresh clothes and fresh faces took their seats at the table, passed Susan's scrutiny, and were promptly given plates loaded with refreshing vegetables and seasoned fish.

"Hang on," Susan said, putting the consumption of their supper on hold. "Where's Edmund?"

Peter and Lucy looked at the empty chair to Peter's right.

"Edmund never misses a meal," Lucy commented.

"Perhaps he doesn't know it's ready," Peter suggested.

Susan shook her head. "We're having it at the usual time. He should know." With the wave of her hand, she summoned one of their Faun servers and asked him if he would fetch the absent king.

A few minutes later, a glowering Edmund slunk into his chair.

"What's wrong, Ed? It's not like you to be late. At least, not where food's involved," Peter said.

As if they had been run across by a hot iron, the lines of displeasure on Edmund's face smoothed out and he put his palms up sheepishly. "I must have lost track of the time."

"I thought you always said your stomach was the most reliable timepiece a chap could ask for," Lucy reminded.

"Not tonight apparently," Susan chimed in.

"I wasn't exactly expecting to be here tonight anyway," Edmund said.

"What do you mean?" Peter asked.

Edmund poked at his fish experimentally. "We were supposed to be out there slaying a Wraith right now."

"Hunting, Edmund. Say hunting next time. It isn't proper to speak of killing at the dinner table," Susan corrected before taking a sip from her goblet.

"Why are you here then?" Lucy asked, pointing at him with the carrot speared upon the tines of her fork.

"Ask him." Edmund jerked his thumb at Peter.

Peter straightened and would have replied but a stern look from Susan reminded him to chew and swallow before speaking. When his mouth was empty enough for words, he answered.

"Edmund ran into a bit of trouble."

"Did not!" came the instant protest.

"You're right. I should have said you fell into a bit of trouble," Peter corrected himself.

"That doesn't make sense," Edmund said, irritably smashing his fish between his cutlery and the plate.

Susan gasped. "You didn't tell me he was hurt."

"I'm not," Edmund grumbled, trying to duck away from the matronly hand she used to push back his bangs.

But she was quicker than he was and managed to see a nasty bruise on his temple before he pulled away.

"He's telling the truth, Su. For once," Peter assured her. "He just took a tumble down a ravine, is all."

"I can see why you would send him back, but why did you return as well, Peter? You don't usually relinquish these types of hunts," Susan asked.

Peter blushed and suddenly became absorbed with separating his peas from his carrots. "I wanted to personally make sure he got home safe."

"We weren't even a full day's ride from here," Edmund argued.

"I suppose I might have overreacted," Peter admitted.

"That's alright. We're glad to have you back," Lucy said, patting his arm.

"It is rather a relief, since we've got that group from Calormen arriving in a few days," Susan commented. "And besides, I'm sure Oreius and the others can handle that Wraith."

"I wouldn't be so sure," Edmund countered. The others looked at him strangely. "I mean, we've heard it's very powerful," he quickly added.

Peter's expression became troubled. "Do you think I should rejoin the hunt?"

Susan shook her head. "No. We have the finest soldiers of any army. With the Lion's blessing, the whole matter will be resolved in no time."

Peter still didn't seem convinced, so Susan changed the subject of conversation to get his mind off his doubts. As she informed him of the planned festivities upcoming in the next week, bowls of custard were brought out for their dessert. Lucy scraped her's clean, while Peter distractedly picked at his. After the meal was finished, Peter helped Lucy to bed. Once she was changed into her nightgown and lying comfortably between the bedsheets, he sat down beside her, his back against the headboard, and read her a story from their wonderfully diverse library. Her eyes were already drooping by the time he closed the book. He kissed her goodnight, blew out the candle, and closed the door softly behind him as he left.

Susan was waiting for him in the sitting room. Though he was disappointed to find Edmund was not there, despite how it was their habit for the three of them to spend the rest of the evening together, Peter gladly accepted the game of chess Susan proposed. As they moved their pieces, they discussed the agenda for the morrow, deciding what would need to be done, who would need to be seen, what kind of a schedule the day would take, given Peter's unexpected return. Susan won and helped him reset the board before rising and laying a hand on his shoulder.

"It is good to have you here, Peter. I was a bit nervous at the thought of hosting the Calormenes alone," she confessed.

"Really?" he asked.

She nodded.

"But we've never even met a Calormen before," Peter pointed out.

"I know. But we've heard such dreadful things about them and whenever I think about that, I get this horrible twisting in my stomach and-" Susan's words tumbled out.

Peter stood and quietly hushed her. "Everything's going to be fine, Susan. Besides, you know you can't believe everything you hear."

She sighed. "I know. But there's always a grain of truth in every rumor."

"Don't worry. It's going to be okay," Peter assured her.

She frowned. "Why aren't you more concerned?"

"Honestly, I wasn't sure I wanted you to have to face them alone either, since we know so little about them. But now that I'm here, I'm feeling much more optimistic about the whole thing. You know why?" he said.

"Why?" she humored him.

"Because we're all together now. And there's nothing we can't do as long as we stand strong and trust Aslan," Peter stated.

Susan smiled. "You make things sound so simple."

Peter shrugged. "They are. You just want them to be complicated."

"I do not!" Susan objected.

"Do too," Peter said.

"Do not," Susan shot back.

"Do too," Peter repeated.

"Do-" Susan caught herself. "Peter, this is ridiculous! We sound like children."

Peter simply tossed his head back and laughed. "Susan, you were arguing like you were three."

"Very funny," she grumbled, swatting his chest.

"Ow," he chuckled.

"I think I've had enough of your company for one night," Susan pretended to be vexed. "I shall retire now."

"Alright then, if you must," Peter said.

She bade him goodnight and went to her rooms. Peter was not long in following her example.

An insistent knock on his door pulled him from sleep before he was quite ready to leave. He groaned and rolled over, hoping whoever it was would realize how delightful it was to sleep in and maybe they would go back to their own bed and leave him in his and he could sleep for another hour or two or maybe the whole day because it was so comfortable and he had been having such a good dream, he was sure of it, even if the details were already fading from his mind, but if he shut his eyes again surely the images would come back and he could get lost in them again and it would be-The knocking did not stop and the compelling call of 'High King Peter' ensured that attempting to slip back into slumber was no longer an option.

"Yes?" he finally answered, voice decidedly undignified so early in the morning.

"Sorry to disturb you, majesty, but the troop you sent out is only a few leagues west and headed straight here," came the reply.

"It is?" Peter repeated dumbly, knuckling his eyes to rid them of drowsiness.

"Dustbeak spotted them on his dawn patrol, sire. Oreius leads them," said the voice on the other side of the door.

"Let food be given them, and I will hear his report after," Peter directed.

"Yes, my lord."

Wishing futilely that he could stay longer, Peter forced himself to get out of bed. Apparently, his bed didn't want him to leave anymore than he did, for the blankets tangled themselves about his legs, causing him to trip when he tried to stand. He landed in a heap on the floor, head ringing from where he'd smacked it on one of the carved posts. When he tried to use the curtains hanging from his canopied bed to stand, the rings broke and he was once again a sorry pile of linen and limbs on the rug. If he was the sort of fellow to believe in omens, he might have been worried about how the rest of the day would transpire. But as it was, he spent the next five minutes in a hard struggle to release himself from the constraining fabric. Once he'd won his liberty, he staggered to the clothing chest, not completely surprised when he stubbed his toe on the foot of it. But he refused to let the trivial pain spoil the morning before it had even properly begun so he soldiered through the process of pulling on undershirt, tunic, trousers, belt, socks and boots. It gave him an inordinate sense of victory when he finished without further incident.

When he came to the breakfast table, set up on the eastern terrace, he was surprised to see Edmund already seated, with a plate in front of him from which he had obviously been sampling. Edmund barely gave him a glance in greeting before biting into another slice of ham. Peter's eyebrow came together. Before he could make a comment, Susan and Lucy stepped outside with cheerful smiles.

"Goodness, Lucy, the boys are up early today. They make us look like the sleepyheads now," Susan observed. "But, Edmund, really, couldn't you have waited for us to join you before you started?" she tutted.

"I was hungry," he shrugged.

His siblings fixed their own plates from the buffet the kitchen staff had laid out for the morning's informal meal. As they alternated between conversation and eating, Edmund ate his way through three helpings. He was starting in on his fourth round when Lucy noticed.

"Well, at least we know the bakers in Narnia can always find employment here, given how much toast Ed eats in one sitting," she said.

The noise of approaching hooves drew the attention of the sovereigns to the arrival of their top general. Oreius stopped in the doorway.

"I am sorry, King Peter. When Neuna told me you could be found here, she failed to mention you were taking your breakfast," he apologized.

"It's quite alright," Peter said, quickly wiping his mouth with a napkin. He started to rise from his chair when Susan invited Oreius to join them at the table.

"It is kind of you to offer, milady, but I have already eaten," he declined.

"Won't you stay though?" Lucy asked.

Oreius looked to Peter. "It is up to his highness. I know not whether he wishes for this report to be private."

Peter reclaimed his seat and motioned the Centaur closer. "Please, we have no secrets here. And I value the opinions and wisdom of my royal siblings."

"Very well." Oreius dipped his head and recounted what had happened in the Woods since the departure of the two kings. His audience listened carefully, identical expressions of thoughtfulness upon all their faces. "When Fox could no longer smell it, and all the creatures returned to the area, even the insects, we realized any further search would be wasted effort on our part. And so it was that we rode directly here, and now await your orders, sire," he concluded. "If you desire that we should engage in the hunt once more, we shall depart immediately."

Peter pressed his lips together and glanced around the table. "How does the matter seem to you?"

"Perhaps it got scared off," Lucy suggested.

"But it was so close," Peter pointed out. "Merely a day's hard ride."

Susan choked on her muffin and had to take several mouthfuls of tea before she recovered from the upset of the news.

"Maybe once it saw what it was up against, it got scared," Lucy offered.

"One can only hope. For if it has somehow eluded us, Aslan save us all from such a cunning devil," Oreius warned.

* * *

My guest reviewers, I would like to respond to you here since I can't PM you. Just because you don't have an account doesn't mean you don't deserve recognition ;)

NarniaGirl: There's nothing pleasant in store for our favorite Just King, I'm afraid :)

WimpyWaffles: I love your enthusiasm! I hope I don't disappoint.

ChecktheGate: I'm happy to hear this fandom is still alive and well. I did my best to be original-hopefully I succeeded :)

ForNarnia: Thank you! There are going to be twelve chapters total-is that enough?

ChildofGod: Awesome! I grew up with my dad reading the Narnia books aloud as bedtime stories so they are a part of my childhood for sure. *settles on the seat next to you with popcorn*


	3. Chapter 3

Thank you dear readers! Your enthusiasm is more than worth all the hours I spent writing this story :)

* * *

The sun was eagerly climbing the sky, streaming pleasantly through the window of his study while Peter worked through the stack of papers on his desk. He had only been gone two days but his workload appeared to have been tripled in that time. Despite the enticing noises from outside his window, the happy birdsong, lapping waves upon sand, lively murmurs of conversation from the castle's inhabitants, he resolutely ploughed through his responsibilities with the knowledge that if he didn't make progress now, he would be spending a large portion of his evening doing them, as his afternoon was to be spent holding court. Already, many Animals had reserved a time to come to their rulers with some grievance or another that needed to be put to right. However unkingly the thought, Peter couldn't help but hope there were not going to be any Boars this time. Boars were notorious for being stubborn and hard-headed. There was no reasoning with them, nor did pleading do any good. Threats and bribes were unlawful, although when last week's argument between Wobblechops and Clovenroot had dragged into the third hour, Peter was sorely tempted to try either illegal route just make the snorting and grunting stop.

Refocusing his thoughts on the letter in front of him, Peter skimmed through the introduction, scanned the middle, took note of the request, consulted a second sheet of paper with a list of materials and costs, and signed the bottom to approve the construction of a new road. Setting that page to the side, he pulled another document and braced his head in his hand as he read through it, wishing for a break from the monotony. His wish was answered with a banging door and a flush-faced Lucy running into his workspace.

On his feet in the next instant, Peter asked, "What's up, Lucy?"

"Peter, you've got to come quick," she panted. "The Calormenes are here!"

"Already?" Peter frowned. "I thought they weren't to arrive for another two days."

Lucy shook her head. "Susan's going mad, rushing to prepare."

"Well, come on, then." Peter grabbed her hand and started tugging her to the door, but she resisted. He looked at her quizzically. "Aren't we in a hurry?"

"Susan wants us to look our best," Lucy said.

Peter groaned. "Surely that doesn't mean…"

"I'm afraid it does." Lucy giggled at his exasperation.

"But they're so stuffy!" Peter complained of their formal outfits.

"She said she wants us to make an impression," Lucy dutifully relayed.

"Your highness, Queen Susan has bid me assist you in readying yourself for the arrival of our guests," a Faun, Pholus, said, coming into the room and bowing to Peter.

"Yes, yes," Peter sighed. "You have my permission to dress me in those ridiculous clothes and fuss with my hair all you like."

Lucy's infectious laugh was the reward for his antics and it almost made the whole ordeal worth it.

"Your majesty will find her ladies already awaiting you in your chamber," Pholus said to Lucy.

"Alright, I'm going." With a final smile, she scampered out the door and down the hall.

True to his word, Peter allowed the Faun to make him presentable. When he was finally clothed in the ornate velvet tunic, paired with what he had secretly dubbed The Wretched Tights of Discomfort, along with the knee high boots, Peter then endured the inexplicably long process of having his hair fluffed, combed down, and fluffed again by the deeply concentrating Faun. Once every blond strand was in its appointed place, Pholus set about adding the finishing touches to the high king's ensemble, such as tying the corded belt about his waist and sliding his signet ring on the appropriate finger and fastening his luxurious golden cloak to his final addition was the crown, placed reverently upon his head. Only once Pholus had circled around him with a critical eye and found nothing lacking in the outfit was Peter free to leave his bedchamber.

He headed for Cair's main gate, as it was their custom to greet their guests upon the courtyard stairs, to symbolize good will and a desire for peace. However, he had not gotten very far when he was spotted by Susan, who quickly crossed the hallway and grabbed his arm.

"I say, Su, you look beautiful," he said.

"Come on, Peter, they're nearly to the gate," she huffed, not even acknowledging his compliment.

"Isn't that where we're going to meet them?" Peter questioned.

"No," Susan snapped.

"Why not? We usually-" Peter started.

"Because King Lune advised against it," Susan answered, pulling him with her as she moved quickly toward the throne room, her cloak swirling above her heels. "Apparently Calormenes are the type who respond only to a show of power."

Unable to argue against the wisdom of the more experienced monarch, and their mentor and friend, Peter willingly followed Susan to where the Narnian court was already assembled. She slowed when they approached the throne room. The guards inclined their heads as they pulled the heavy doors open for their sovereigns. Peter offered Susan his arm and she rested her hand in the crook of his elbow. In this way, he escorted her to her throne. As they serenely walked down the long aisle, it did not escape Peter's notice that the aisle was lined with Centaurs, garbed in their military gear. He lowered Susan into her throne, giving Lucy a brief smile, before crossing to his own throne. A glance to his right gave him the view of Edmund, similarly dressed and waiting. Peter gave him a slight nod, which was not returned. Then the trumpets were being blown and the entire room held its breath. The doors were pulled open and the Satyr herald stepped through.

"From the Court of the Tisroc of Calormen, I present to their majesties of Narnia, Tarkaan Uhanta, his personal guard Khasis, and Ambassador Anmut," he announced.

He moved aside and the three men walked in. They carried themselves proudly, chins high, shoulders back and spines straight. Their skin was dark, contrasting starkly with their brightly colored robes. Each of the Calormenes had a thick dark beard hanging down to his collarbone, or farther. On their heads, they wore large turbans, the sight of which tickled something at the back of Peter's mind. Their movements were accompanied by a jingling noise, as the many jewels and baubles they were ornamented with clanged against one another. Behind the men trailed a handful of people, both men and women, though these had not the confident bearing, nor the fine clothing, of the three men. When the group reached the end of the aisle, they dropped to their knees.

"Great King Peter, almighty sovereign over this impressive land," the man on the right began with magnitudinous decorum, "I, Anmut, have been sent by the most exalted and venerated Tisroc (may he live forever), to seek you out in this mystical land in which you dwell, filled with all manner of remarkable creatures and extraordinary magic, to request most humbly that you would consider graciously extending your hand of friendship to such a simple country as ours, in a manner that will be mutually beneficial for our generation and also for the ones that will follow after us, if such an agreement is pleasurable for you to consider, oh wise ruler of Narnia."

Peter fought down a laugh. Such superfluous language was not commonly used, nor required, in the Narnian throne room. Thankfully, his self-control was stronger than his sense of humor and he was able to wrestle the urge down. Instead he rose from his throne and lifted his hands, palm up, to his waist level, indicating the kneeling visitors should stand.

"In the name of Aslan, be welcomed to Narnia, Anmut, Tarkaan Uhanta, and company," Peter said, voice ringing clearly through the hall.

At that moment, the sun blazed through the stained glass behind him, enveloping him in a halo of colored light, making him seem otherworldly and every bit as majestic as he had been named. The Calormenes squinted up at him, enthralled by the sight of the glowing king. Then a shadow crossed the face of the sun and Peter was once again simply human. The man in the middle of the trio cleared his throat.

"Truly, your excellency, King Peter, the stories do not do you justice," he gushed.

He snapped his fingers and a slip of a girl hurriedly stepped out of the crowd following him, a gilded box in her shaking hands. The speaker frowned at her and she ducked her head, holding out the box to him. He lifted the lid with fingers heavy with many rings, and withdrew from the padded cushioning a large topaz, suspended from a delicate chain of interlocking metal rings. He offered the necklace to Peter. "Please accept this small token of cordiality."

Peter inclined his head. "May it be the first stone that paves the road of peace between our countries."

Uhanta, easily identified by his wealthy appearance, grinned with gleaming teeth. "It is well said, your eminence." He replaced the jewel, and Tumnus walked over from his spot at the edge of the platform and received the box for Peter. "It could be a lovely gift for any one of your consorts," Uhanta continued.

The laugh that Peter had forced down earlier returned with an unexpected vengeance and he very nearly spoiled Narnia's first diplomatic interaction with Calormen. By some miracle, he managed to swallow it, though it did block his throat for a moment. When he could speak again, he tried to keep his tone as courteous as possible.

"Tarkaan Uhanta, Queens Susan and Lucy are the consorts of neither myself nor any other," he corrected.

"Ah. Concubines, then," Uhanta amiably agreed.

There was a muffled snort from Lucy's throne.

"No, Tarkaan, not concubines either," Peter said.

Uhanta's eyebrows drew together in confusion. "Courtesans, perhaps?"

Susan opened her mouth angrily but Peter spoke first. "Susan and Lucy are my sisters!" In his amused indignation, he forgot to use their royal titles, though Uhanta seemed too preoccupied to notice.

"Is he also a relation of your noble family or is he perhaps...your majesty's...companion?" Uhanta hesitantly questioned, shifting his eyes to Edmund.

Peter's jaw dropped and he looked more flabbergasted than majestic. "Edmund...he's-Ed's my brother!" he spluttered.

"Oh." Uhanta was properly embarrassed. "My deepest apologies, Prince Edmund."

"That's king to you," Edmund barked.

His siblings glanced at him in surprise. Out of the four of them, he was the most level headed, and rarely did he raise his voice, and never in the throne room.

"Certainly, certainly," Uhanta speedily assented, folding over his voluminous belly multiple times in contrite bows. "I do beg your forgiveness. But, if it pleases you, might you explain to such an ignorant man as myself how it is that you bear your brother's title while he yet lives?"

Taken off guard by the blunt question, Edmund merely stared back at the Tarkaan. Susan smoothly took over for him.

"It was Aslan Himself who installed us upon these thrones, bestowing to us the rule that we all share in like measure," she explained.

"But Peter is the High King," Lucy piped up proudly. "Which means he's the final authority. On any big issue, he's the one who makes the decision, and we all obey him."

The Calormenes took a minute to absorb the new information. This time, it was the third man, Uhanta's bodyguard, that spoke.

"In Calormen, according to the infallible laws of the enlightened Tisroc (may he live forever), women must be made subject to the man of the house." Susan and Lucy bristled. "But a man is free to challenge the constraints another would place upon him. Is that not so for you, King Edmund?" Khasis inquired, watching the face of the younger king carefully.

Every eye in the room was trained on Edmund now and Peter found himself suddenly nervous, afraid to discover if Edmund actually did resent him, if their relationship had made no progress from the shambles it was in when they first arrived in Narnia a year ago, if maybe Edmund had only been pretending to be content with Aslan's decrees. Finally, Edmund straightened.

"It's my honor to serve the high king," he proclaimed.

The tension left Peter's body so fast, he nearly fell off the dias. He was overwhelmingly relieved, and then felt ashamed for ever doubting Edmund in the first place. Susan stood and invited the Calormen envoy to follow a guide to their prepared chambers in order to freshen up before the noon meal was served. A flash of surprise flickered over Uhanta's and Anmut's faces before they regained their equilibrium.

"We thank you, beautiful queen, for the chance to refresh ourselves from our journey," Anmut said.

The Calormenes made their parting bows and turned to follow their Cheetah escort, but not before Khasis witnessed Edmund directing a particularly hateful glare at Peter's back. Recognizing an opportunity, he hung back from the rest of the group, hoping for a chance to talk to the king alone. The chance came sooner than he expected. After excusing himself from his master's side for the moment, Khasis found the monarch lingering outside the throne room.

"King Edmund!" he called.

The half-horse creature that was standing at attention nearby took a few steps closer to the ruler but Edmund waved it away.

"Yes?" He tilted his head as Khasis came up to him.

"Your system of governing is foreign to my mind. Would you be so kind as to take the time to simplify it for me?" Khasis asked, keeping a wary eye on the guard.

"Certainly," Edmund granted. "But let's do talk in the gardens. We have such lovely ones here."

With that, he led him away from the watchful gaze and sharp ears of the sentry. By that alone, Khasis knew he had found a like-minded individual. The gardens proved to be the perfect location for their conversation, as they were empty due to the fact that nearly everyone was gathering in the feasting hall.

"What can I make clearer for you?" Edmund asked as they strolled among the cultivated plants.

"Is it true you share power with your brother?" Khasis asked.

"It is true," Edmund affirmed, eyebrows lowering into a sour expression.

Khasis worded his next question carefully, wanting to gauge how deep King Edmund's resentment went, and if there was any loyalty between him and the other king. "Were you given any say when the division of power was decided upon?"

"Not a word!" Edmund snorted, swatting at a particularly big flower. "It was all decided for me, without my consent. The least they could have done was asked for my opinion."

"You feel as if you've been wronged?" Khasis tested.

"Grievously," Edmund confirmed.

Khasis glanced around for possible witnesses before he leaned close for his next inquiry. "You are next in line for the throne?"

Edmund frowned, not quite grasping the question.

"If something were to happen to your beloved high king, his position would then become your own?" Khasis expounded.

Comprehension lent Edmund's eyes a cold gleam. "Indeed."

"King Edmund, are you out here?" a voice called.

Khasis looked over his shoulder. Edmund's fervent whisper swung his head back around.

"I would speak more to you on this matter," he murmured. "I will arrange another talk." Then more loudly, he said, "Yes, Tumnus. I'm in the garden."

A goat-man tottered over on his ridiculous legs and proceeded to babble incessantly about food, seating arrangements, and traditions. Edmund went with the beast, but not without first giving Khasis a conspiratory wink.

The Dryads, Badgers, Fauns, and other wait staff kept the food ever present before the royalty and their guests. The fare was nothing extravagant, but it was fresh, and skillfully prepared. At their first taste of Narnian food, the Calormenes could find nothing to complain of. Various topics maintained the conversation, ranging from geography to fashion to food to whatever other themes those at the table found engaging. After the laughter had finished over a particularly rousing tale from a Satyr about the dangers of rock climbing after dark, a natural lull came over the group, as they enjoyed the humor of the finished story and awaited the next subject of talk. However, in the absence of other distractions, Edmund soon became the focus of everyone's attention, for the simple reason that he was stuffing food into his mouth faster than he could chew. Many put down their cutlery and watched with uneasy fascination as the younger king stuffed himself. Susan was embarrassed on his behalf, cheeks flushing lightly as little bits of bread and meat dropped from his mouth when he opened it to shove in more.

"Edmund, manners," she hissed under her breath, trying to catch his eye to reinforce the correction.

Lucy's seat beside him gave her the vantage point from which to lean over and whisper, "Don't forget, you did have a rather large breakfast."

"But I'm so hungry," Edmund groused defensively, heaping another spoonful of wild rice onto his plate.

Seeing how Edmund's behavior was affecting the table, Peter took it upon himself to soothe their minor distress. "My, but how the growing boy requires sustenance."

Uhanta's deep laugh broke the tension, others joining in until the entire group was chuckling.

"This reminds me of the time last autumn, when my wife had just given birth to my ten sons. No more than a week later, I came home to find they had eaten our pen!" Wobblechops, the Boar, related.

This set off a string of comedic narratives involving hungry offspring, and even Anmut participated. While the rest of the table was thus occupied, Peter quietly asked Edmund if he was alright.

"No, actually, I'm not," Edmund replied sharply.

"What's wrong?" Lucy asked.

"I ache all over, I'm still hungry, and it's freezing in here!" he snapped, throwing down his fork.

Peter frowned. "Ed, it's the height of summer, and we're in our formal robes. I'm practically drenched in sweat."

Lucy held the back of her hand against Edmund's forehead, pushing his dark hair away. "Maybe you're coming down with something."

A scab on Edmund's temple caught Peter's attention. "What happened there, Edmund?"

Pulling away from Lucy, Edmund scraped his chair back and tossed his napkin onto the table. "Nothing. Leave me alone. I'm going for a ride."

"Edmund, wait!" Susan called, but his steps didn't even slow as he left the hall.

His sudden, inexplicable departure dampened the mood of the meal. Lunch was finished hurriedly in stunted conversation. The Calormenes retired to their chambers for their customary afternoon sleep, and the Narnians were only too willing to excuse them. Peter went back to his study and, after changing out of his formal wear into more comfortable clothes, began again on the stack of papers that were in the exact same place as when he had started his work in the morning. As he evaluated the current proposed budget for the army, there was a light tap on his door.

"Come in," he said, never taking his eyes off the list of numbers.

The measured pace and the swish of a skirt against the wood floor gave him all the information he needed to deduce who his visitor was.

"What's up, Su?" he asked, scrawling a few quick mathematical figures on a spare piece of parchment.

"Oh, Peter, it's these dratted Calormenes," Susan replied, distressed.

Peter looked up at her then. "What about them?"

"I don't know. Everything, I suppose," Susan said.

Confused, Peter stood and dragged an armchair away from the window, situating it in front of his desk. "You'd better sit and tell me all about it."

Susan took the offered seat, only to spring out of it right away in agitation. "I don't know that we made a very good impression."

"What do you mean?" Peter questioned.

"Well, I don't think we did a very good job of explaining our governmental system," she started.

"Surely they should have known we were a family," Peter interrupted. "I had thought that detail was commonly circulated."

"Apparently not," Susan said.

"At least they weren't surprised we're young," Peter pointed out. "They didn't patronize us. Unlike that governor from Galma." He grimaced at the memory.

"I suppose that's true," Susan remarked. "But, Peter, do you think they're taking us seriously?"

"Of course," Peter said. "Why wouldn't they?"

"I don't know. It's just with the strange way Edmund was acting…" Susan trailed off. "I don't want to sound mean-spirited, but it wasn't very courtly behavior."

Peter sighed and leaned back in his chair. "I'll talk to him."

Wringing her hands, Susan made another circuit of his rug. "Why oh why did they have to come early? I'm not nearly ready to host them yet. There's so much left to do..."

"I have a suspicion that that's how they intended it," Peter said darkly. "I think they meant to catch you off guard, imbalanced."

"Really?" Susan paused, looking at him with a worried expression.

"But they have underestimated you," Peter continued, a proud gleam in his eye. "I know you're going to show them that it takes more than a premature arrival to throw you off."

Susan smiled, but it was half-hearted. "You have no idea how much work I still need to do."

"You're right." Peter got up and came around his desk to catch her hand. "I don't know. But if there's anything you need for me to do, anything, just let me know."

This time, Susan's smile was brighter. "That's a very kind offer." Then her lips curled mischievously. "I think I know how you can help."

"How?" Peter eagerly volunteered.

"You can help me decide which color napkins to use for the Year of Beruna dinner," Susan said.

Peter dropped her hand, eyes widening in alarm. "Perhaps I could help with something else."

"But Peter, you promised." Susan gave him a faux pout. "And besides, I just can't decide between the ivory, cream, or pearl."

"Lucy would be the better one to ask," Peter said. "She has an eye for that sort of thing."

Susan laughed. "Alright, I'll torture you no longer. I shall request the artistic advice of another, rather than your royal self."

Peter breathed a sigh of relief when the door closed behind the Lady of Cair Paravel.

* * *

Anon reviewers-

ForNarnia: The chapters vary in length. But to quote a famous green alien "size matters not." There will be action/angst/fluff galore!

Eleanor Estel: Thank you! Actually I have been pleasantly surprised by the response I've received on this.

AlexisLove27: Aren't you glad you gave the movies a chance? :) I own and frequently watch all three but LWW will always hold the spot closest to my heart.

NarniaGirl: Thanks! I'm glad you're enjoying it that much :)

ChildofGod: I can not tell you how much the *actions* you add to your reviews make me smile! They are my favorite part! XD And since you asked, yes I do *swipes both popcorn and toppings*

Just a Faun: Thank you! Yes, I do accept requests/ideas/prompts. I can't make any promises on how long until I finish them but I do write them. I like your idea!

Guest: Thank you! I promise I will.


	4. Chapter 4

Here, we finally catch up with poor, unfortunate Edmund.

* * *

Edmund tested his bonds, the ones against his ankles, the ones about his wrists, and the one that the Wraith had apparently added when it had knocked him unconscious, a loop around his neck somehow secured to the ceiling. They were just as strong as the last time he had tried to wriggle free. He couldn't say how long ago that attempt had been. There was no way to tell time in the little rock cave. He was cut off from the sun, and it was more physically disruptive than he ever imagined it could be. He missed the warmth, the cave was always cold. He missed the consistency, the ability to mark the passage of time by the star's path across the sky that told him when it was time to eat, time to sleep. He missed the bright, cheery illumination. The only light in the cave was the fire the Wraith had left burning. Edmund alternated between love and hate in regard to it. At first, he had been glad for the light. Until he realized the fire never faltered, the wood never burned down, the ashes never formed. The fire was magic, unnatural and foreign. He hated that. Hated the reminder of a power that could maintain the illusion of comfort, hated the cool amber of its burn, the absence of a warmth that should have been there. There were moments when he wished it would die, smoulder into embers and leave him alone. But then he would imagine how much worse his situation would be, tied up and abandoned in the pitch black, with nothing to distract him from thoughts of another prison. Another place of cold. And dark. Of hate and pain and misery and fear.

Reeling his thoughts back from that dangerous precipice, he sought something else to focus on. His stomach gurgled, agonizingly empty. But there was nothing he could do about it so he turned his attention elsewhere. He still had not lost hope of a rescue. At the foundation of that hope, there was his steadfast faith in Aslan, his trust that everything that happened to him was seen by the Lion, that no matter where he was, he was in His paws. On top of that was his belief that Peter would come charging down that tunnel, Rhindon in hand, to slice through the rope and bring Edmund back home. Perhaps it was a bit of naive hero worship that he had never quite grown out of, but Edmund held onto the conviction that Peter was could fix everything, solve every problem, rescue him from any enemy.

All Edmund had to do was wait. Wait for Aslan's perfect timing. And wait for Peter, whenever the big idiot finally got around to rescuing him. And wait. And wait, wait, wait. Wait in the cold, in the silence, in the aches of his muscles and the hollowness of his stomach, in the synthetic glow of a false fire. Wait in the torture of his own mind that seemed to enjoy teasing him with doubt and despair and memories of things a year long past.

He shivered and shifted position, feeling the jagged surface of unpolished stone slide beneath him. His mouth was parched, and a dull pressure had settled inside his skull. Ignoring both of these, simply adding them to the growing list of complaints his body was composing, he closed his eyes and tried to fall asleep. Slumber was the only escape he was capable of obtaining. Footsteps echoed in the passage beyond, and Edmund shot upright. His heart skipped a beat, already drumming hard with the hope of a much anticipated rescue. Whoever was coming was human, that much he could distinguish. The image of Peter's face swam before his eyes, nearly making him sick with longing.

The person was close now, so close. This could all be over. The waiting, the loneliness, the discomfort, the struggle. Edmund smiled wide, certain it was his savior approaching. Then the figure stepped into the light and his relief flipped to disappointment.

"Oh good, it's me," he muttered.

The Wraith, guised as him, crossed the room directly and knelt distressingly close to him. "How are you feeling?"

"Quite content to rot in this dump for the rest of my life. I do hope you didn't have anything different planned for me, I would be so put out," Edmund replied, smirking sarcastically.

It invaded his space further, breath moist against his cheek as it snapped, "The truth, mortal, or I shall cut out your tongue."

"Alright," Edmund protested, happy when it pulled back to give him a couple inches of space. "Since you asked so nicely, I'm cold and hungry and I ache all over."

The Fell grimaced, muttering about the unpredictability of ancient spells. It was so unexpected, Edmund chuckled. His reaction angered the Wraith because it drew back a fist and struck him with all the muscle Edmund's body had. The hit landed on his face, the knuckles bruising his left eye.

"And here I was, thinking that you actually cared about my health," Edmund snarked, stretching his face in odd ways to test the extent of the damage.

The Wraith glared down at him and backhanded him, hard enough to split his lip, before the creature pivoted on its heel and left the cave.

"Maybe Susan is right. Perhaps I do need to work on my hosting skills," Edmund said to no one. "I'm not very kind to my guests."

Long after dinner, where Edmund's absence had been smoothed over by Dryads, pipes, and a bit of Narnian poetry, Peter found himself alone in his bedchambers, with a blank sheaf of parchment and an untouched quill. He had unsuccessfully gone to bed earlier, but his worry about his brother would not allow him to sleep. Everyone assured him Edmund was in no danger, and that he would return before the beginning of the second watch, just as he had promised a Mouse, who had happened to be in the stables when the young king left. Personally, Peter thought nine o'clock was still late for him to be out, but Edmund was mature enough to make those decisions on his own. One thing that made the wait more bearable was thinking of it as a trust exercise. He had to trust Aslan to watch over his brother, and trust Edmund to keep to his deadline. But just because he trusted them didn't mean he was able to let go of all his anxiety. In an attempt to do something productive with his restlessness, Peter had ambitiously decided to write out the speech Susan had been fussing at him for weeks to compose. He was supposed to make one at the celebratory feast in three days. No doubt Susan assumed the composition was already finished. Unfortunately, Peter had been procrastinating on the matter for far too long. The truth was, he didn't want to write it because writing about it meant he had to think about it and if he thought about it he was going to remember it and there were plenty of things from that fateful day that he had no desire to put himself through again.

Yes, it had all turned out fine in the end. Yes, Aslan had come roaring in to defeat the Witch and save the day. Yes, Narnia had won her liberty. But there were other parts to it as well. There was the crushing weight of a nation's future that had lain on his frightened shoulders. There was the overwhelming responsibility of ensuring his army's victory, the knowledge that if he and his army were defeated, the Witch would destroy his family and the entire country. It had been his first battle, his first taste of blood. His first time in armor, doling out death with the stroke of his arm. There were things that stuck out in his memory like jagged lines of scar tissue-the weight of the sword in his palm, the brilliancy of the afternoon sun, the sweat layered between his skin and armor. But most of all, the part he remembered most clearly, the sight he could never erase, never forget, never scrub from his dreams, was Edmund. Always Edmund. Edmund, facing the Witch. Brave, reckless, clever Edmund, shattering her wand. Edmund, too young, too small, falling. Pierced and dying. Laid out on the grass with his blood spilling out. Edmund, Edmund, Edmund.

With the sweep of his hand, Peter scattered the papers from off the table. He stood abruptly, knocking his legs into the furniture before pacing over to the window. He clenched his arms against his chest, willing himself to calm. The high king should not have such panicked reaction to mere memories. He was to be strong, unshakable, confident. But it was hard. As he stared out into the night, collecting his resolve, piecing himself back together, he spied a mounted figure coming into the courtyard. It must have been a blessing from Aslan, for Edmund's return could not have been better timed. Peter rushed from his room, not caring who saw High King Peter pummeling down the stairs and sprinting across the courtyard.

"Ed!" he called. "Ed!"

Edmund whirled almost guiltily in the saddle. Peter trotted over to him.

"Am I ever so glad to see you," he greeted. Then he noticed the horse Edmund had chosen. "Ed? Where did you go? Why didn't you just ride Philip? Surely you'd prefer your own Horse to this one."

Smoothly dismounting, Edmund explained, "I wanted to give him a rest after all the excitement of the past few days."

Too distracted by his own maelstrom of thoughts, Peter accepted this answer as sufficient. "Come on up to my room, Ed," he invited, practically pulling him indoors.

"Wait, what about the horse?" Edmund protested.

"Someone will come put him up," Peter said. "Now come on."

Edmund had no choice but to be manhandled to the high king's quarters.

"Have you eaten yet?" Peter asked as he brought Edmund into the spacious area.

"No," Edmund said.

"There's some fruit in that bowl over there. I don't know who keeps putting it out, but it's never empty so please, help yourse-by jove! Ed! What happened to your face?" Peter exclaimed, finally turning and getting a good look at him in the full light from the fireplace.

Edmund reached up and explored said body part experimentally. "My face?"

Peter grabbed him by the shoulder and shoved him into the chair before the fire. "It looks as though you got into a fight. You didn't, did you?" he questioned, using gentle fingers to probe the swollen eye and split lip that had alarmed him.

"I did," Edmund admitted.

Peter's eyes widened.

"With a tree branch," Edmund finished impishly, knocking away Peter's hands.

"That's not funny," Peter told him.

"I thought it was," Edmund said, standing and walking across the room to the mentioned fruit bowl.

"You're not usually such a careless rider," Peter observed.

Edmund snagged an apple and took a huge bite out of it. "There's not usually such a low hanging branch across the road." He glanced down at the mess of papers strewn over the floor. "A project of yours?"

Peter sighed. "Just the blasted speech Susan wants me to write."

"Any luck?" Edmund asked, reclining on Peter's bed, munching the apple noisily.

Shaking his head, Peter gathered the papers into a stack and laid it on the tabletop. "Everytime I think about what happened last year...it just gets overwhelming." Embarrassment looming upon his psyche, he glanced up at Edmund.

Edmund sat up, a faraway look came into his eyes, and the apple sat forgotten in his lax hands.

"I don't suppose you could help me write it, could you?" Peter inquired shyly. "You're always so good with words." He ducked his head, dipping the quill into the ink to occupy his hands.

After a moment of silence passed, he raised his eyes. Edmund was unmoving on the bed, a fascinated expression on his face, his gaze focused on something only he could see.

"Ed?" Peter said softly.

Edmund's head whipped around suddenly and he stared at Peter. "You truly want my help?"

"Yes," Peter answered, suddenly wary for a reason he couldn't name.

A slow, unsettling smile twisted Edmund's lips. "Then would you like to hear what really happened to me when I was with the White Witch?"

Peter set down the quill and turned his face away, ashamed to tell his brother that he didn't want to hear of the misery he had endured, that he didn't think he could bear to listen. "Aslan said the past is the past," he offered weakly instead.

Edmund leaned forward eagerly. "But Peter, don't you want to know what I went through? What

mistreatment and torture She put me through? The freezing dungeon of ice She locked me in without food or water? The beatings She gave me, and the ones She let her servants give? Did you know She laughed? Every time I bled, She laughed."

Peter's hands gripped the edge of the desk so tightly his knuckles bleached white, matching the pallor of his face.

"Her Dwarf had a whip. He was very handy with it," Edmund recounted, the fire causing strange shadows to dance across his face. "It cut through my clothes, straight to my skin. Of course, I shouldn't forget to mention he also had a dagger he was fond of, particularly when the blade was pressed to my throat. Now, it was never enough to actually slit it, mind you, but he did enjoy nicking it here and there. The strange thing was, I knew I was actually quite safe then. Because as long as I was with him and not Her, I would live. But it was whenever She showed up that I was terrified. I would have prefered if She had just used Her wand and turned me to stone from the start, rather than keeping me in suspense. It's horrible, not knowing which moment is going to be your last. I was just so scared all the time."

"Stop it," Peter whispered, eyes wide.

Edmund continued on conversationally, ignoring Peter's plea. "She made me watch. Whenever She executed someone, She made sure I was there to see it. It was awful, those poor creatures. And I couldn't help but wonder if I would be next. If, maybe, I would finally be free from the cold, and the pain, and the terror. All the things you couldn't protect me from."

Peter staggered to his feet, trembling. "Shut up! Shut up! Why are you saying these things?"

Edmund leisurely unfolded his frame from the bed and slunk over to Peter. Peter's pulse beat mercilessly in his ears, and he was certain it was only the trick of the firelight that made it appear as though Edmund was smirking as he laid a supposedly comforting hand on Peter's shoulder.

"I just thought you should know," Edmund murmured, a cruel gleam in his eye.

* * *

ChildofGod: I think you guessed it ;) Please let me know if this chapter was what you had in mind. *completely forgets manners and stuffs face with popcorn*

NarniaGirl: Ta-da! That's what was happening with the _real_ Edmund. I hope that it was worthy of your suspense :)

ForNarnia: I almost didn't post today, considering tomorrow is a holiday here in America, but you and my other reviewers have expressed such excitement, I went ahead and updated anyway!


	5. Chapter 5

I just can't say enough how grateful I am to my reviewers. Your reviews are the highlight of my week!

* * *

Breakfast in the morning was awkward. Edmund didn't attend, a fact for which Peter was relieved. After what had happened last night, Peter wasn't prepared to face his brother. Edmund's words had been startling and upsetting, and the manner in which he delivered them even more so. They had never spoken of it before. And now that they had, Peter didn't know what to do with the knowledge. It was a burden he had been unaware the other boy was carrying, one which he wasn't sure he himself could manage. The situation put into contrast Aslan's wisdom to leave the past in the past. But it was too late now. Peter couldn't forget what he'd been told. All he could do was decide what to do with it. And until he could sort through his bewildered muddle of disjointed thoughts, he was content to be given a little space from the source of his distress. He felt horrible for being so selfish, but that was the truth.

Susan touched his wrist lightly. "Did you talk to Edmund last night?"

Peter stared at her, afraid that she had somehow overheard them.

"About what we discussed?" she prompted.

Her comment assuaged his fear, and he slumped in his seat. "We talked. But not about that."

"Then what did you talk about?" Susan asked.

"It's nothing," Peter dismissed, forcing another bite of egg into his mouth, though he had no appetite.

Susan frowned. "Don't lie to me, Peter. It clearly isn't nothing or you wouldn't be upset. So tell me, what's the matter?" she pressed.

Peter looked into her eyes and saw only genuine concern. He was about to explain himself when he remembered Lucy was still at the table. His gaze cut to her, Susan's following. Lucy glanced between the two of them, recognizing their somber expressions. She quickly shoved her last bite into her mouth and emptied her teacup in two swallows.

"It's alright," she said, rising from her seat. "You can discuss whatever it is you don't want me to hear. Edmund invited me to go for a swim anyway." With that, she left the room, skipping down the hall.

"Oh, Lion bless her," Peter murmured, wondering how he had ended up with such a perceptive and generous little sister.

"Alright, Peter. What happened between you and Edmund?" Susan questioned, nudging her empty plate away to fold her hands on the table.

"Well, I asked him to help me write my speech-"

"What speech?" Susan interrupted.

Peter braced himself. "The First Year of Beruna speech."

"Peter! You were supposed to have that finished already!" Susan berated. "It's due in three

days!"

"I know, but I was having some trouble. See, everytime I think about the battle, I just...it all comes rushing back and I can't even…" he trailed off, unable to put into words the flood of recalled sights, sounds, and smells.

Susan rubbed his upper arm consolingly. "Peter."

He visibly gathered himself, pulling his shoulders back and setting his jaw. "Anyway, when I asked him to help, he started talking about his time with Her."

Susan blanched. "But he's never talked about it before. He doesn't even mention it in passing. Why would he bring it up now?"

Peter shook his head. "I have no idea. Susan, the things he told me were terrible." He buried his face in his hands.

Making soft shushing noises, Susan came up behind him and placed her arms over his shoulders, securing him in her embrace. After a moment spent quivering with the images Edmund's words had put into his mind, Peter took his hands away from his face, wringing them anxiously in his lap instead.

"Susan, the way he was talking about it was…" he struggled to find the right way to describe it. "Disturbing. It was like he was fascinated by his memories of all that pain." He twisted his head around to peer up at Susan in worry. "That can't be healthy, can it?"

Susan slowly retracted her arms and returned to her seat. "Perhaps you misinterpreted his tone."

"It wasn't just his voice though. His expressions and mannerisms, everything was off," Peter insisted, shuddering.

"Maybe that's just the way he's coping with it," Susan offered.

Peter pursed his lips. "I certainly hope you're right, Susan."

Edmund shifted as far as his bonds allowed. It wasn't much, but his muscles were tortured from the strained position he'd been stuck in. The rope around his neck tightened and he grimaced. The Wraith was clever. Without the noose around his throat, Edmund would have already attempted an escape. But he couldn't even take a full step without choking himself so a daring run back to Cair Paravel wasn't possible.

He wasn't sure what was going to kill him first-the screaming ache in every one of his limbs, the gnawing empty pit that used to be his stomach, or the complete isolation from the rest of the world. If he had any way to mark the time, he would be tempted to estimate how long before he went mad from the sheer lack of stimuli. There was nothing to challenge his intellect, no books to read, nor judicial cases to try. No decisions to make. No papers to sign. No reports to review. There was nothing to occupy his hands, even if they had been untied. No quill to flourish, nor sword to hold. There was nothing to listen to, no birdsong, nor rustling wind. Not Peter's laugh, or Susan's lectures, or Lucy's chatter. There was nothing to look at. Nothing but the strange immortal fire.

Shutting his eyes once more, Edmund wished again for someone to find him. Peter would be preferable, as Edmund had not only borne witness to his brother's considerable skill with a sword but he had also seen the way Peter would transform into an avenging angel whenever his family was threatened. And it was not beyond Edmund to hunger for retribution. But, at this rate, he would settle for even Mr. Beaver to be the one to save him. Actually, now that he considered the matter, Mr. Beaver was not actually too terrible of a choice. His large teeth would certainly make short work of the ropes…

Footsteps sounded in the stone corridor but Edmund knew better than to think his wish had been fulfilled already. He didn't even bother to look when the person came into the chamber where he was being held. When there were no exclamations of astonishment and joy, he knew his theory was correct. It was only his captor returning. A thump of fabric and solid objects against rock was enough to pique his interest, however. He cracked open an eye, then immediately shut it when the Wraith turned its head in his direction.

"I know you're awake," the thing said in his voice, taken for its own.

Disappointed that he had been found out so soon, Edmund sighed but didn't bother with the ruse any longer. He glared at his copy, while the creature withdrew a knife from its belt.

"Try anything and I'll slice you to ribbons," it threatened, pointing the tip at his nose.

Surprised by the break of routine, Edmund merely sat and waited. It came close enough to kneel and cut the rope about his wrists before springing back out of his reach. Edmund's hands fell uselessly beside him, the feeling long gone. He shook them, encouraging the blood flow. Bringing them to his face, he frowned to see the twin circles of raw skin where the rope had scraped against each wrist. The thumping sound came again and he glanced up to find a satchel at his feet. The Wraith, maintaining a safe distance from any surprise attack Edmund might have attempted, and planted solidly in the mouth of the tunnel to block his escape, gestured with the dagger.

"Eat."

Edmund wrinkled his nose in confusion. "What?"

"Eat," it repeated impatiently.

Cautiously, Edmund opened the bag and pulled out the contents. A water skin, rosy apples, thick slices of bread, a chicken drumstick, even a hunk of cheese, were soon spread out before him.

"What is all this?" Edmund asked in bewilderment.

The Wraith rolled its eyes and Edmund could now see why he always annoyed Peter so much when he did it. "Food. Now eat."

Edmund eyed the edible items suspiciously. "Are they poisoned?"

"Yes. I went to all the trouble of keeping you strung up down here just so I could poison you two days later," it replied, tone thick with sarcasm.

Edmund mulled over the bits of information it had unintentionally revealed. The most important thing was that it needed him alive. Unable to resist the tantalizing offerings any more, Edmund grabbed the water skin and drained the contents, the tepid liquid soothing his parched throat and easing the throbbing in his skull. After it was empty, he selected a bread slice, tore it in two and stuffed a whole half into his mouth at once. The Fell smiled, although there was no happiness in the expression. As he chewed, Edmund examined his reflection. The purple bruise around its left eye was particularly intriguing. As was the scab on its bottom lip. After swallowing the bread, Edmund's tongue darted out to probe the dried blood on his own lip. The evidence clicked together in his mind and he couldn't help the laugh that punched its way out of his vocal chords. The Wraith glared viciously at him.

"What's so funny?"

Edmund only laughed harder.

"Tell me now, or I'll divest you of your eyes," it threatened, stabbing the air to punctuate its words.

"No, you won't," Edmund chuckled.

"I won't?" it repeated challengingly.

"No. You know why?" Edmund said. "Because missing your eyes is a rather difficult thing to explain away, isn't it?"

The thing flushed angrily. "What?"

"I'm right, aren't I?" Edmund said. "Somehow, whatever spell you've done to allow you to appear as me, has made it so that you appear completely as I do. Or, in this case, injuries." He pointed to his black eye, the same one sported by the beast.

It growled at him, unable to contradict. Heartend by the news, Edmund perked up. He pinched his arm.

"Did you feel that?" he asked.

Its glare never wavered. Undeterred, Edmund scratched the fingernails of one hand against the tender rope burn on the other hand's wrist. This time, the creature wriggled uncomfortably. Edmund felt a thrill of triumph.

"So I might be able to stop you after all," he murmured.

"You'd only be hurting yourself," it snapped defensively, sounding pathetic to Edmund's ears.

Edmund shrugged. "It'd be worth it if it slows you down."

"You're still trapped here," it reminded him. "You have no weapon."

"I'm sure I'll figure something out. I'm very resourceful," Edmund assured it, glancing around the meager space. "For instance, I could bash my head against the rocks behind me. Or I could lean forward and suffocate myself. Or…" His gaze lighted on the food. "Or I might even choke on a chicken bone."

"Alright. Do those if it pleases you," the Wraith dismissed. "But know this." It slunk nearer, presence menacing. "If you do, you condemn your family to terrible suffering. Whatever you deal to me, I shall bring upon their heads tenfold."

His previous good spirits fled him and Edmund felt the blood drain from his face.

"We wouldn't want any harm to come to them, would we?" it sneered, face twisted with mockery. "Can you imagine it? Dear old Susan, choking on bones? Or high and mighty Peter, skull crushed with a stone? Or perhaps it might even be sweet little Lucy, tied up in some dark forgotten space and left to suffocate to death? What a terrible way to go." It shook its head, dark curls bouncing, before it stared with cruel eyes into his own. "I am capable of that, and so much more, because I am you. And I know the depths of your depravity. The hatred you once harbored toward your siblings, toward you own flesh and blood, it lives on inside you. Dormant, yes, but any sleeping dragon may be woken."

Sickened by what the Wraith said, Edmund mutely stared back. Sensing its victory, the Fell straightened.

"Eat," it commanded.

Scared for his family, Edmund mechanically placed the food in his mouth, scarcely chewing before shoving down another mouthful. Eventually, the meal was gone and the Wraith re-tied the rope around his wrists. Then it left him alone, nauseated and fearful.

* * *

NarniaGirl: Thank you! I tried to do something different and I'm happy you like it!

ForNarnia: Haha, it is a tough choice! Both boys are going through a lot right now ;)

Girlsaywhat: I can't say-it might give away the ending ;)

ChildofGod: Yup. We're definitely building up to some stuff. I love creating conflict in my readers, haha! *sheepishly accepts hot chocolate* *meekly offers whipped cream to go on top* Good call on the turkish delight. And of course I'm human. What makes you think I might not be? *glances around shiftily with a suspicious looking smirk while tucking evidence out of sight*

Josiehorsegirl: Thanks! I hope you liked this chapter too and there's several more to go :)

Oh and I forgot to tell awilliamsbbc.98: you were right about the spell!


	6. Chapter 6

While Susan tended to their guests, taking the Calormenes on a tour of Cair Paravel and its grounds, Peter sat resolutely at his desk, quill and parchment prepared and waiting. Setting out to finish the speech before the noon meal, he concentrated on carefully scratching out the correct words. That's all they were. Just words. Battle, death, sacrifice-they were not blood and screams and horror. Merely black lines on white paper. All he had to do was thank the Narnians who had served faithfully, honor the ones who had died, and outline a hopeful future. That was his duty. That was the purpose of the speech. He didn't have to relive the sun glinting off of armor. The screeches of Fell beasts. Kneeling in the dry grass beside his dying brother.

Peter abruptly pushed away from his desk and strode to the balcony, throwing open the doors and stepping out into the sunshine. Bracing his hands on the balustrade, he hung his head between his arms and gulped the fresh air like water in a desert. When his breathing finally slowed, and his pulse evened out, he straightened, gazing up into the clear morning sky. He couldn't afford to have a reaction like this at the feast. He was the king, high king over Narnia. His people looked to him for strength, for courage, for direction, and leadership. He had been ruling for less than a year, a year spent earning the Narnians respect and trust. To lose it now, in the foundational moments, would be to lose it forever. He could not fall apart like this. If he were a child, the response would only be natural. But now that he was king, he was not allowed such indulgences.

He squared his shoulders and marched back to his desk, intent on keeping a tight reign on his emotions. It was a challenge, but one that he was determined to master. As he continued with the composition, the memories returned but he fought them down, stuffing them into the back corners of his mind until he could focus on the task before him. The only effect they managed to have on him was to tie his stomach in knots, but even that he paid little attention to. A knock on his study door jarred him from his fierce concentration. The door was cracked open and Mr. Tumnus' fuzzy head appeared in the opening.

"Sorry to disturb you, your highness, but Queen Susan is requesting your presence in the training yard," he relayed his message.

"Oh," Peter frowned, puzzled. "What is she doing there?"

"Something to do with the delegation, I shouldn't wonder," Tumnus replied.

"Tell her I'll be there directly," Peter said.

With a quick dip of his head, Tumnus was gone. Peter looked down at his desk and was surprised to find he had made much progress. Relieved to be so nearly done, he didn't mind taking a break. As he made his way through the castle, he crossed paths with Lucy. His sister was dragging her feet, missing all of her usual cheer and liveliness.

"I say, Lucy, what's wrong?" Peter stopped her in the hallway.

When Lucy raised her eyes to look at him, he was startled to find them misty. "Edmund never came."

"Swimming?" Peter asked, recalling what she had mentioned at breakfast.

She nodded miserably. "I waited for him for hours."

"Perhaps he forgot," Peter suggested gently.

At that moment, the subject of their discussion appeared at the other end of the corridor.

"Edmund!" Peter called.

Edmund casually walked over to them. "Yes, Pete?"

"Don't you have something to apologize to Lucy for?" he asked.

Eyebrows furrowing, Edmund shook his head. "I can't recall anything."

"You promised her a swim," Peter prompted. "And even if you didn't remember, you still owe her an apology."

Lucy looked at Edmund expectantly, forgiveness already on the tip of her tongue.

"No, I didn't forget," Edmund stated, eyes glittering even beneath the bruise still circling his left one.

"What?" Peter blinked.

"I just decided to go for a ride instead. I thought it would be funny to see how long she'd sit out there on the beach, all alone, just waiting," Edmund assured them, a nasty smirk on his lips.

Lucy's face crumpled, her hands balling into fists.

"Edmund!" Peter scolded, incensed on Lucy's behalf.

"It was just a joke," Edmund snickered maliciously.

His words were an echo from a year past, a long year of repentance, healing, and forgiveness. To have his little brother behave in such a way again was like a splash of ice water in Peter's face. When he looked to Lucy, he saw she was feeling much the same as himself. Hurt, anger, and disbelief were plain in her expression.

"Why would you do something like this?" she questioned.

Before he could answer, Tumnus trotted up to them. "If your majesties will please hurry, Queen Susan is waiting for all of you in the training yard."

"What does she want now?" Edmund groaned, throwing his head back.

Moodily, he marched after Tumnus as the Faun led the way. Peter turned to Lucy.

"Are you sure you want to go down there? I'll make your excuses for you if you don't," he offered.

Lucy shook her head, putting aside her grievance with Edmund. "No, I'm alright. I'll come."

She drew herself up to her full height, only reaching Peter's shoulder. Peter drew her in for a quick hug, proud to see her displaying the valiance Aslan had named her for.

"We'd better hurry then." Peter released her, taking her hand instead.

Together, they went to meet up with the others. They found Susan standing on the outskirts of the Calormen party, all of whom were gathered around the area designated for practicing combat. As they came closer, Peter could hear the distinct ring of metal against metal, as well as the hard grunts of deep voices. Before they came to where the others were standing, Susan separated herself and hurried over to Peter.

"What's going on?" he asked her.

"Oreius and Rhuni are dueling," she answered.

"Why?" Lucy inquired, straining to catch a glimpse of the two large Centaurs.

Susan held up her hands. "The Calormenes wished for a demonstration of Narnian swordsmanship, but since you boys took so long getting here," she raised a reproachful eyebrow at Peter, "Oreius offered to show them what it looks like when a pair of Centaurs clash."

As if on cue, the Calormenes let loose an uproarious cheer.

"I think they're enjoying it a bit too much," Susan muttered disapprovingly.

The crowd parted to allow Rhuni through, his chestnut flanks glistening with sweat. When they turned to watch him leave, they caught sight of Peter.

"Ah, great King Peter. Won't you grace us with a display of your excellent fighting prowess?" Uhanta requested.

"Oh..erm.." Peter looked to Susan.

She stood still and silent, giving him no indication whether he should accept or refuse the request.

"Of course he will. You will, won't you?" Edmund prodded, pushing away from the tree trunk he'd been leaning against while watching the proceedings. "Show our guests what a true king of Narnia is capable of?"

Oreius nodded. "Perhaps, sire, you could move through the exercises and forms you have mastered."

Peter opened his mouth to agree, when Khasis stepped forward.

"I should hope we are fortunate enough to witness the finesse of both kings." He stared meaningfully at Edmund.

"Indeed. Such an engagement would truly be an inspiration, I have no doubt," Anmut added, eyes gleaming in his dark face.

"An honorable knight never turns down a challenge," Edmund goaded.

Peter narrowed his eyes. "Are you challenging me?"

Edmund moved until he stood directly in front of Peter, chin up and chest out. "Yes. I, Edmund the Just, challenge you, Sir Peter Wolfsbane."

Disconcerted by Edmund's brashness, Peter took a moment to consider. To refuse would be to appear as a coward before the foreign visitors. Yet Edmund's conduct was out of character and Peter was hesitant to accept, unable to understand the motives behind his challenge.

"Come now, just a friendly crossing of swords," Edmund urged in a low voice. "What do you say, Pete?"

Peter nodded sharply. "I accept your challenge, Edmund the Just."

Edmund licked his lips in anticipation and folded at the waist, though the gesture seemed more insolent than respectful.

"Pardon us as we prepare." Peter excused himself and Edmund from the field.

Oreius followed behind them. When they got to the armory, Edmund headed for his full suit of armor.

"I do not think your majesty will require all of that," Oreius remarked. "Helmets, vambraces and greaves should suffice. This is merely a showcase of skill, not single combat." He pulled the appropriate training gear from its shelf.

Grudgingly, Edmund put on the pieces Oreius had selected. Peter did the same, watching Edmund with a close eye. Oreius moved on to the racks of swords. When both kings were garbed in armor, they joined him. With a longing glance at Rhindon, Peter bypassed his own sword in favor of a duller, training blade. Edmund hefted a shining sword from the selection of dutifully sharpened ones, flipping it from one hand to the other a couple times.

"Are you sure we can't use real swords?" he asked, gazing up and down the length of the weapon.

Peter stared at him. Oreius pawed the ground.

"I do not think that to be wise, your majesty," he murmured with displeasure.

"But surely Peter and I can handle it," Edmund insisted. "We've come so far in our training."

"I do not think it wise," Oreius repeated firmly.

Peter cleared his throat. "Ed, just use a practice sword."

Muttering unintelligibly under his breath, Edmund returned the sword to its place and retrieved a blunted one to replace it. Peter glanced at Oreius.

"I do not know that we will give them much of a show. We're hardly warriors," he worried. "They must have soldiers in their own country that are far more impressive."

"Do not confuse age with skill, my liege," Oreius said. "You have learned much in a year, and most of your knowledge was gained by experience."

The corner of Peter's mouth lifted self-deprecatingly. "It's a miracle we made it through Beruna. I did little more than swing my sword wildly."

"And yet, you achieved victory," Oreius reminded.

"Thanks to Aslan," Peter replied confidently.

"Are we going to stand here talking all day or are we actually going to fight?" Edmund snapped irritably before spinning on his heel and stomping out without waiting for the others.

"The young king appears to be...not himself," Oreius observed.

Peter sighed. "You don't know the half of it." Then he strode back out into the sunlight.

The Calormenes ringed the combat circle, faces eager and eyes bright. They had been joined by nearby Narnians, drawn to the charged atmosphere. Peter stepped into the arena, finding Edmund glowering at him from the other side. He glanced to where Susan and Lucy stood, their expressions unhappy. Oreius outlined the rules, and explained to the visiting spectators how the victor was declared when one contestant landed what would be a mortal blow with an ordinary weapon. When he had finished speaking, Peter and Edmund bowed to each other to signal the start of the competition.

With sword loosely pointed up, not yet directed at his opponent, Peter took several steps to the right, gradually circling Edmund. Edmund matched him pace for pace, blade held in a guarding stance, close to his chest. After coming back to his starting position, Peter flourished his sword. Edmund's eyes narrowed and he lunged forward, bringing his sword down in a large arch. Peter easily blocked and the two stepped apart. Edmund thrust forward, though his blow was parried by Peter. Taking the offensive, Peter slashed at Edmund's side. Deftly using his blade to block, Edmund pivoted and ducked beneath Peter's outstretch arm, ending up behind him. He kicked out at the back of Peter's knee, causing the other boy to stumble. Edmund took advantage of his struggle to regain balance, smashing the pommel of his sword down between Peter's shoulder blades. Peter fell forward, landing on his face, and their audience gasped. When Edmund came closer to his toppled opponent, Peter flipped onto his back and hooked an ankle behind Edmund's, knocking him to the ground as well. They scrambled apart, gaining their feet and catching their breath.

With a yell, Edmund sprang forward, raining a flurry of blows down on Peter. Focused on deflecting the strikes, Peter was driven back. Never slowing, Edmund pressed his lead. After feigning a swing to the left, Edmund slammed his elbow into Peter's nose. Peter reeled back, blood spurting from the injury. The Calormenes cheered, clapping their hands and whooping loudly. Coming to the realization that Edmund was not holding back, Peter leaped at him. Edmund caught his strike and parried it, a feral grin contorting his lips. They exchanged quick hits, neither able to land one on the other. Their swords flashed madly in the sun, rapid movement creating the illusion of sparks dancing on the metal.

Switching his sword to a one-handed grip, Peter used the vambrace on his other arm to deflect Edmund's next swing. His weapon free, he aimed at Edmund's legs. The younger boy jumped aside evasively. Peter dropped to one knee and jabbed his sword upward toward Edmund's chest. Edmund brought his blade down to block, and the two weapons clashed with a resounding scream of metal. Locked together, each king panted, readjusting their grip, straining their muscles to gain the upper hand. Although Edmund was smaller, Peter's awkward position put him at a disadvantage. Edmund threw all his weight behind his sword and it scraped further down the length of Peter's blade. Peter bent backward beneath the pressure, spine uncomfortably contorted. Edmund shoved harder, eyes cold.

"Yield, Peter," he snarled. "Yield!"

Peter grit his teeth and gathered his strength. With a great heave, he tossed Edmund off, breaking the blade lock. Edmund rushed him again. Peter spun, dodging. He swung his sword around to catch Edmund's. In one smooth motion, he brought both blades together and twisted his wrist, wrenching the weapon from Edmund's hand. Unarmed, Edmund lashed out with a clumsy punch before diving for his fallen sword. The tip of Peter's blade against the hollow of his throat stopped him. Slowly, glaring poisonously at the victor, Edmund straightened, wary of the weapon trained on him. Peter kept the sword there another moment, hovering just above the skin, before he pulled it away, flourished it, and sheathed it in his belt.

Oreius trotted forward and bowed to Peter. "You have won the match, Sir Peter."

While the crowd erupted in applause, Edmund sketched a shallow bow. "It would appear you have bested me this time," he grunted.

Peter dipped his head in acknowledgement but refrained from making a comment. The enthusiastic audience entered the ring to give their congratulations. While enduring the endless pumping of his hand, and the ceaseless compliments of awed witnesses, Peter scanned the multitude until he spied Edmund, slinking away, trailed by Khasis. Then Lucy was hugging him around the middle and he forgot all about wondering where Edmund was going. A Sparrow fluttered over, landed on Susan's shoulder and delivered a quick message before flying for the castle once more. Susan made an announcement about noon meal being ready, and asked for the gathering to move indoors. As the rest of the assembly headed that way, Susan grabbed Peter's arm to hold him back. He glanced at her questioningly but she waited until the majority of the group had left. When only Lucy and Oreius remained, she deftly removed his helmet and passed it to Oreius. Then she snatched his chin and turned his head from side to side.

"What in the Lion's name are you doing?" Peter exclaimed.

Rather than reply, Susan looked at Lucy. "Have you got your handkerchief, Lucy?"

Lucy whipped it out of her sleeve and handed it to her sister. Susan accepted it and set to work gently dabbing the blood from Peter's face.

"That was a dirty hit," she murmured, carefully cleaning him up.

"Technically, it wasn't against the rules," Peter pointed out.

"Hold still," Susan commanded.

Lucy pursed her lips. "But he doesn't normally do that."

"How would you know?" Susan asked suspiciously. "Is this where you sneak off to when we're supposed to be practicing our embroidery? You'd rather watch the boys swings their swords around?"

Lucy blushed, but didn't deny the accusation. Peter smiled.

"Go easy on her, Susan," he said, pleased to discover Lucy enjoyed watching him.

Susan hummed in disapproval. "Just don't give her any ideas, Peter," she warned.

"I can't make any promises." Peter gave Lucy a wink.

Lucy giggled and hung onto his hand. Susan stepped back to inspect her handiwork. No trace of blood remained. Satisfied, she pinched the soiled kerchief between thumb and forefinger until she could find someone to take it to the laundress for her.

"Come along you two, or we'll be late for dinner," she called over her shoulder as she walked away.

Peter and Lucy started to follow, but Oreius cleared his throat. "Your armor, highness."

"Of course." Peter hastily removed the last bits of protective gear and thanked Oreius when he offered to return the things to the armory.

Free at last, Peter and Lucy sprinted after Susan, keen to avoid one of her legendary lectures about tardiness.

Khasis pursued the defeated contestant, taking long strides to match the boy's quick pace.

"King Edmund," he called. "King Edmund!"

His shouts went unanswered as the monarch stomped into the armory. Khasis ducked into the dimly lit building to find Edmund throwing his armor on the floor. Khasis raised an eyebrow.

"I almost had him!" the monarch raged, tossing his sword on a nearby table.

"Your majesty did display an impressive mastery of swordplay, as well as cunning," Khasis remarked.

"Blast Peter. Him and his stupid disarming maneuver. And his mightier-than-thou attitude and his high kingly position," Edmund growled.

Khasis waited, observing the outburst.

Edmund suddenly turned to him. "What do you suggest I do?"

Khasis feigned ignorance. "Put in more hours with your swordmaster."

"Not about that," Edmund barked before lowering his voice. "I mean, how do I dispose of my brother?"

Khasis stroked his beard. "Why do you ask me?"

"Because I have heard tales of the cleverness and ruthlessness of the Calormen nobility. You have lived among them, you serve them. Surely you have seen, if not participated in, many assassinations," Edmund explained, glancing around to make sure there were none to overhear their conversation.

Khasis nodded. "Aye."

"And?" Edmund pressed impatiently.

"If you truly want the deed done, entrust it to none but yourself," Khasis began. "Many hands are connected to too many mouths," he recited a proverb from his country.

Edmund furrowed his brow. "But then I would be found out and punished accordingly."

"Not if you're sly," Khasis said conspiratorially.

Leaning forward, Edmund eagerly awaited instructions. Khasis brought his head close to the boy's, whispering in his ear.

"First, you must select someone to take the blame. Perhaps a mistreated slave, who could be out for revenge," Khasis said.

Edmund frowned. "We don't have slaves here in Narnia."

"Whyever not?" Khasis asked, astonished.

"Who knows? It's a rather egregious oversight," Edmund said.

Khasis paused. "Then perchance someone new in the castle, a mysterious stranger with unknown intentions."

Edmund took a moment to consider, then he nodded. "I believe I know one like that."

"Excellent. All that's left then is to plan the time and the place for the death of a king." Khasis rubbed his hands together maliciously.

Edmund snapped his fingers. "The Feast of Beruna."

Khasis was surprised by the swiftness of the answer. "Are you certain you wish to attempt such a thing in so public a setting?"

"There's no other that would be so fitting," Edmund stated, a hard edge in his voice.

"Very well then," Khasis said. He looked about for any witnesses. Once he ascertained that they were alone, he withdrew a sleek dagger from the folds of his robes. "All your majesty need do is contrive a reason for your chosen stranger to be within striking distance of the king. Then, embrace your brother and drive this dagger into his back. When he stumbles against you, cry out and make a show of searching for who could done something so terrible. And the stranger will be there and you will point him out and he will be beheaded for his crime. The country will mourn and you shall have his crown, High King Edmund."

Edmund concealed the blade in his own tunic, grinning deviously. "I thank you for your assistance, Khasis. When I take Peter's place, you will surely be rewarded handsomely."

Khasis' face lit up with greed. The noise of approaching hooves startled both conspirators. Edmund pointed to the rear of the building.

"There is a back door. Take it, quickly, before my general finds us conversing together," he said.

Without hesitation, Khasis took the offered escape route. 

* * *

AFanofYourStory: Thanks! We're halfway done so you'll find out soon the rest of what's in store for them. *hopes the now empty whipped cream bottle went to good use calming your nerves* *squirms under scrutiny* *sighs in relief* And yes, I think you did! XD

Girlsayswhat: I hope these don't disappoint! There are six more chapters after this one. Thanks!

NarniaGirl: Thank you! That makes me soooooo happy! :D


	7. Chapter 7

Yikes! I almost didn't post this in time! But here it is, on Sunday, as promised ;)

* * *

Dinner boasted a wonderful selection of crisp vegetables, fresh bread with dipping oil, roasted meats, and plums in a wine sauce. After the plates had been filled and the drinks poured, Anmut began a long soliloquy, praising Cair Paravel and her regents. As he waxed on about the beauty of the gardens, the craftsmanship of the rooms, the geometry of the architecture, the taste in decor, the kindness of his hosts, their never ending vitality and vigor, and his hope that they would one day achieve a fraction of the grandeur possessed by the tisroc (may he live forever), Peter noticed Susan squirming in her seat every so often. He glanced quizzically at her as nonchalantly as he could, not wanting to draw attention to the fidgeting queen. She gave him a small smile in reply, though the expression was strained. When the Calormen finally concluded his monologue, Susan tipped her head at him.

"Your words are most kind, Ambassador Anmut," she said demurely. "It delights us to know that you have enjoyed your stay in this our palace. Tomorrow, you shall indeed see Cair Paravel at her finest, as we celebrate-"

She cut herself off with a light yelp, jumping in her seat. Everyone stared at her and a blush reddened her cheeks.

"Padron me," she apologized. "I was merely going to say that the festivities surrounding the Year of Beruna will transform this castle to one of light and life."

Her smooth transition appeased the gathering, and no one thought anything more of her outburst. Lucy enthusiastically took over the dialogue, chattering about musicians, dancers, feasts, and other upcoming merriment. Peter took the opportunity to lean over to Susan's chair.

"What was that about?" he asked quietly.

"Someone's been kicking me all this time," Susan explained. "That hit was just particularly hard."

Together, they surveyed the company to find the perpetrator. Peter knew he was keeping his legs to himself, and he couldn't imagine Tarkaan Uhanta acting in such a juvenile manner. Tumnus was on the other side of the tarkaan, but he couldn't reach Susan, even if he had wanted to. Which left Edmund as the only possible suspect. His head was turned toward Lucy, listening to her excited talk, but Peter spotted the telltale smirk lingering on the corner of his mouth. Peter looked to Susan and saw from her expression that she had come to the same conclusion. They exchanged a glance, but the setting prevented them from doing anything other than having Susan sit on the far edge of her seat, legs angled away from Edmund's.

A few minutes later, Edmund stood, setting his napkin on his empty plate. "Excuse me, but I should like to have a rest after this morning's grueling duel." He slid his eyes to Peter before making a swift bow to the rest of the table.

Peter thought he saw him reaching into his pocket, but then Edmund put his hands behind his back and Peter couldn't be sure. Edmund crossed behind Susan's chair on his way out of the dining hall. His flicked his wrist, and kept walking when Susan let out a shriek. Susan didn't stop, leaping out of her chair and flailing her arms wildly. Peter immediately stood and tried to help, although he had no idea what the problem was.

"Get it off!" Susan squealed. "Get it off of me!"

"Does her majesty require assistance?" Tumnus inquired, halfway between sitting and standing.

"Is it common in Narnia for royalty to act this way at a meal?" asked Uhanta, amused.

"Susan, what is the matter?" Lucy cried, rushing to her sister's aid.

In the middle of her frantic struggles, Susan accidentally knocked into a Dryad bearing a pitcher of wine. The liquid spilled across the front of Susan's gown, and also splashed onto the table, while the unsuspecting Dryad lost a considerable amount of leaves. A croak came from the vicinity of Susan's hair and Peter spied a flash of forest green mixed among her curls. He made a grab for it at the same time Lucy did. The result was a scream from Susan when her hair became the victim of her zealous would-be saviors, and a noisy slap as something landed in the bowl of oil. Lucy peered into the serving dish. Whatever it contained uttered a loud ribbit before hopping all over the tabletop.

Startled diners yelped and scattered their dishes as they scrambled out of the way. China broke, vegetables were squashed and fruit flew, as the chaos increased. As he scurried around the other side of the table, hoping to cut off whatever it was that was so disturbing their luncheon, Peter happened to glance toward the doorway. There, just inside of it, in the shadows, Edmund stood smirking at the pandemonium. Peter frowned but was distracted by the pursuit he was caught in. Meanwhile, Lucy giggled and chased the creature as it bounced down the length of the table. She made a grab for it, but it was slick with oil and squirted out of her fingers. Resourceful, she picked up the closest napkin and used that to snatch it, holding it aloft for everyone to see.

"It's alright, it's only a frog!" she assured.

"Where did it come from?" Anmut asked, straightening his turban in an attempt to disguise the fact that he had been just as panicked as the rest of the crowd.

"Are you okay, Susan?" Peter asked from across the room.

"I am now. Except for my spoilt dress. And this mess," she sighed, surveying the wreckage of their dining area.

Everywhere, Man and Beast were pulling bits of food from their clothes or fur respectively, helping one another to their feet, and laughing at the absurdity of the situation.

"You go on and change," Peter said, coming to stand by her side. "I'll clean this up."

"Are you sure?" Susan asked.

"Yes," Peter said.

Susan smiled gratefully and hurried from the room. Peter sighed and raised his hands to garner the attention of the disordered gathering.

"My esteemed guests and fellow Narnians, I pray you, accept my apologies for this most unfortunate mishap. If any have need of it, let their garments be sent to the laundress straightway. To those who need a wash, let baths be drawn immediately." Here Peter nodded to a couple of the wait staff lingering, uncertain, on the edges of the mayhem.

They bowed and set off to prepare things as he had requested. The main group affected by the incident split off, going to their separate quarters to make themselves presentable once more. Peter sighed again and started gathering broken bits of glass into a pile to be disposed of later. A Badger touched his arm.

"Don't bother yourself, King Peter. The kitchen staff is more than willing and able to clean," she informed him.

"I don't mind one bit," Peter assured her.

"We'll manage. You may not know this, but us Badgers have a long memory. And I remember from stories my grandsires passed down that is is not the job of a king to be collecting dishes and wiping tables," she argued firmly.

Peter looked at her in surprise. "But surely I can help."

"Nonsense." The same Dryad Susan had bumped earlier glided past. "We'll have this place shining in no time," she sang. "And we wouldn't dream of making the High King do it for us."

"No one's forcing me to do anything," Peter pointed out.

"Well, if you'll pardon my saying so," the She-Badger said, "I'm forcing you to stop helping."

With this statement, she laid a paw on Peter's leg and gently pushed him away.

"Alright then," Peter muttered to himself. "I've just been dismissed from my own dining hall. Never thought that would happen, but I suppose there's a first time for everything."

"Peter!" Lucy beckoned, napkin wrapped frog still clutched in her hands. "Will you come help me find a good spot to release him?"

"Of course," Peter said, happy to be of use to someone.

They trotted outside, discussing what constituted a suitable habitat for an amphibian. The conclusion they came to was that water was a necessity and foliage an essential addition. Although the seashore was so close, it had neither the food supply prefered by frogs, nor the plants to house them. Lucy was concerned the waves would crush the poor creature so they didn't even consider the beach. Then inspiration struck and they exclaimed 'the garden fountain!' in perfect synchrony. No sooner had they settled the frog into his new home than Susan, in a fresh gown, joined them.

"You're not mad at him, are you?" Lucy asked her, pointing to the amphibian happily kicking his way through the clear water.

Susan shook her head. "I think he was just as much a victim as I was."

"It was Edmund, wasn't it?" Lucy said more than asked.

The others could only glumly nod in disappointed agreement.

"I wonder how he kept it so quiet during the meal," Lucy mused idly.

"Why is he doing this?" Susan asked quietly, looking to Peter.

Peter pursed his lips. Lucy stared up at him.

"It's like he's falling back into all his bad habits," she murmured.

"As if the past year never happened," Susan added anxiously.

Determined to allay their fears, Peter offered, "Perhaps it's just a phase. We shouldn't jump to any conclusions."

"I suppose that could explain it," Susan said, though she sounded doubtful.

"It's dreadful timing though," Lucy sighed. "What with First Year and all that."

Peter tugged her against his side to give her reassurance. Susan's hand flew to her mouth.

"Oh dear! I was supposed to be greeting the musicians this morning. I was so busy with the Calormenes, I forgot!" she lamented. "And of course, I have to make a final decision on the table settings. And there's the flowers to organize, candles to choose, furniture to be moved-"

She had to stop when Peter pulled her against his shoulder, effectively muffling her list of tasks. For a second, she struggled. Then she relaxed and allowed the embrace. When she had calmed, she stepped back. Peter grinned at her.

"There's still plenty of daylight left today, not to mention tomorrow morning. That's time enough," he said. "You are a brilliant festivities coordinator and you have a wonderful staff. Everything is going to turn out fine."

A mirrored smile turned up the corners of Susan's lips.

"What can we do to help?" Lucy asked earnestly.

"You, Lucy, can come with me and we'll see if we can't get these last few details sorted out." She joined hands with her sister. "And as for you, Peter. If you'll just keep our foreign visitors occupied and out of our way, that would be lovely."

Peter grimaced. "You don't have anything else to assign me to besides babysitting?"

"They're grown men who could slit your throat if the fancy took them," Susan replied breezily, sweeping out of the garden with Lucy by her side. "I hardly think that counts as babysitting."

When he went to follow his sisters, a small tug on the bottom hem of his pants made him look down. A young Hedgehog immediately released his trousers and timidly scurried backwards. He recognized the child as one he and Lucy had played with a few days ago.

"Hello there," Peter greeted, sitting with his legs folded beneath him to more easily speak with the small creature.

"Hello, King Peter," the Hedgehog squeaked.

"What can I do for you?" Peter asked with a smile.

The Hedgehog shuffled her feet. "I had something to tell you."

"Oh? And what might that be?" Peter queried.

"It might be unimportant," replied the Hedgehog.

Peter raised a curious eyebrow. "You may as well tell me anyway and perhaps we can decide its importance together."

Bolstered by his kindness, the Hedgehog took a deep breath and then began. "Two days ago, my mother sent me and my brothers out to play because we were causing too much of a ruckus while she was trying to tidy our home. So we came here to the gardens to play, as we usually do. It was my eldest brother's turn to count so my other brother and I were hiding and I chose that bush, right over there. Do you see it?"

Peter turned his head where the little paw pointed, although he wondered why the young Animal felt compelled to relate her game to him. "Yes, I see it."

"It was a good place to hide, no one could see me. My brother hadn't come to find me and I was about to come out and find him, when I heard King Edmund walking in the gardens with another Son of Adam," she continued.

His interest now roused, Peter leaned forward. "Who was it?"

The Hedgehog shook her head. "I do not know his name but he frightened me."

Peter frowned, displeased with the notion of any causing harm to one of his subjects. "How so?"

"I don't know. He was just scary," she said.

"What was he doing with Edmund?" Peter questioned.

"They were talking. King Edmund sounded angry," she replied.

"What were they talking about?" Peter asked, knowing that he should feel more ashamed for prying into Edmund's business than he actually did. But the report he was listening to was unsettling.

"I think they were talking about power or being king or something. And about...you." She ducked her head. "I'm sorry, it was so long ago, I can't clearly remember it. I should have told you sooner."

"Nay, you have done well," Peter said. "I thank you for bringing this to my attention."

The Hedgehog dipped into a bow before scampering off. Peter sat a moment longer on the ground, troubled by what he had been told. There could be a reasonable explanation as to why Edmund would be discussing such things with a Calormen. Perhaps he had been describing Narnia's unique government, or answering a mundane question about his position. Though he knew such reasons could be true, neither would account for Edmund's anger. And when coupled with Edmund's strange behavior and Susan's misgiving about the Calormenes, Peter remained perturbed. A disturbing suspicion crept into his thoughts and he couldn't uproot it once it had taken hold. It was a dark, appalling, disloyal idea and he hated himself for it. But he now feared that Edmund could be caught up in some form of conspiracy.

* * *

ChildofGod-well, you do have a distinct way of reviewing ;) *hovers indecisively between being flattered and being disturbed* *ducks under couch* *slips out paper with a hastily scrawled note that reads 'It will all work out in the end, I promise!'*

NarniaGirl: If I post before midnight, it still counts, right? Sorry, I went to see my brother's Christmas choir performance and didn't get the chance to update until now. Thanks for your patience and eagerness! :)


	8. Chapter 8

This was not my first choice for how the story would go, but it's what I ended up with and I assure you it's all part of a master plan.

* * *

He wasn't sure when his last meal had been, but Edmund found the hunger more bearable than another visit from his captor would have been. The humiliation of submitting to the creature didn't sit well with him. He had always been an independent child, chafing under his parents' rules, resisting the authority of his school teachers, and outright rebelling against Peter's inexperienced attempts at headship. To have to do whatever the Wraith told him to do, whenever it told him to, picked at old egotistical wounds. His experience as its captive was steadily robbing him of his autonomy and stripping him of his sanity. And the unrelenting isolation did nothing to bolster his hope. His optimism was shrinking, a flickering candle burning all too quickly down its wick.

It was easy to compare this imprisonment to the one he had been placed into by the Witch. Not her ice dungeon. No, his current situation wasn't anything like the hell that had been. But the one later, when he had been in her camp, bound to a tree and tormented by her Dwarf. It was similar to that. The abrasive ropes, the ever-present hunger, the scent of lingering evil. That was all the same. But the sinking feeling of guilt, deep in his chest, was worse this time.

The Fell's taunt festered like an infected cut, oozing pus and leaking blood. Was there still darkness in him? Could he yet hate his siblings? He examined the past year through that lense. Every argument, every dispute, every grudge. Every annoyance, every conflict, every fight. Any time he had felt resentment or bitterness or jealousy or anger or irritation. Any negative interaction between himself and his family-were they signs of a hidden malice within him? If he had acted on his hatred before, been willing to betray his brother and sisters to gain power before, who was to say he wouldn't do so again?

It was a sobering prospect, one that left a sour taste on the back his tongue. He didn't want to think about it. Didn't want to imagine anything happening that would steal Lucy's smile, or cause Susan to cry, or disappoint Peter. Having almost lost them once before, Edmund now dearly loved his siblings more than he could properly articulate. It was absurd to think he could ever hurt them again.

But...the Wraith wouldn't lie. Its spell had bound them somehow. It knew his mind, his thoughts, his dreams, his feelings, even his secrets. And it had told him. It had seen something it could relate to. To think he had something in common with the abominable creature was enough to cause bile to rise in his throat. He didn't want to be like it. Didn't want to be similar to the Witch's most loyal disciple. He was though. The fact burned. It stung that he could never be rid of Her taint. Of the wickedness She had sought out in him, dragging it to the surface and promising to fulfil it for him. Here was the proof that he belonged to the shadows, to the night, to the evil and the dark. Perhaps it would be better if he were to die here, alone in this cursed cave.

As soon as the despairing notion entered his mind, a roar sounded in his ears, pounding through his rib cage and rattling his skeleton. His blood seemed to warm, chasing away the ice and the despondency. Faith and hope surged in his heart and he was reminded of Whom he belonged to. Aslan had saved him from the White Witch. He belonged to the Lion. Bowing his head, Edmund whispered a prayer of repentance and gratitude. When he had finished, he could almost imagine he felt the warm press of a Lion's kiss to his forehead. At peace once more, recalling the cleansing forgiveness of the Great Cat, he released his doubts and fears.

A scratching along the tunnel piqued his interest. It certainly wasn't the Wraith, unless it had shed its imitation of his body, which he found unlikely since it was bent on revenge. Something else was in there. Someone else had found where he was being kept. Edmund knew it was no coincidence that the discovery happened just when he had felt Aslan's presence.

"Hello?" he called when the scratching stopped.

A few more scratches and then a pair of Mice stuck their heads out of the opening.

"I knew I smelled Son of Adam," the one said to the other.

"Yes, yes. I can see you were right. You needn't point it out," came the reply.

"I just wanted to make sure you knew," said the first.

"When I am staring directly at the evidence, you can be assured that I know," said the second.

"Alright, no need to be cross with me. After all, you were the one who didn't believe me to start with," said one.

"That's because it did sound crazy to think that there should be a Son of Adam all the way down here," came the retort.

"Yet there was," said the first proudly.

Edmund cleared his throat, startling the two. "Pardon the interruption, but would you mind assisting me, my good cousins?"

"Oh, goodness! Look at us, standing around talking when there's work to be done," tutted the first, racing into the chamber. He skirted around the fire, nose twitching and eyes squinting. "What a dreadful flame," he muttered.

His friend also gave it a wide berth, tail flicking anxiously. "It's unnatural."

The first Mouse scampered up onto Edmund's shoulder. "How did you come to be in a place such as this?"

"Not by choice, I can assure you," said Edmund.

"I should hope not," agreed the Mouse. "Squeakeneek, would you be so kind as to start with his feet and I'll get his hands?" he called to the other.

The rodent nodded and set to work gnawing on the thick bindings.

"Could you perhaps get my neck first?" Edmund asked.

"Yes, Cheepapeep, why didn't you think of that sooner?" Squeakeneek snickered.

Cheepapeep couldn't answer, as his mouth was full of rope. Soon, the bindings fell away under the sharp teeth of the Mice.

"How did you do that?" Edmund asked, gratefully standing and stretching stiff limbs.

"These are not the first ropes we've ever chewed," Cheepapeep assured him with a secret smile.

Squeakaneek's face also seemed to light up, but they kept their past experience to themselves and Edmund didn't press.

"How did you find me?" he asked instead, rubbing his raw wrists.

"It was all him." Squeakaneek tipped his head at his fellow Mouse.

Cheepapeep lifted his chin. "I just had a feeling, is all. And when I caught your scent, I knew I was right to follow it."

"You have my thanks," Edmund said. "Both of you."

They nodded once to acknowledge his gratitude.

"Can you tell me where I am?" he asked, taking a few shaky steps forward, testing muscles that had been motionless for days.

"You're in a cave," Cheepapeep answered.

Squeakaneek smacked him. "He knows that. He meant where is the cave."

"I was getting to that part, if you hadn't interrupted me," Cheepapeep shot back.

"You should have started with that part," Squeakaneek argued.

Edmund cleared his throat again and Squeakaneek turned to him.

"You're in the Western Woods, fourteen leagues from Cair Paravel," he informed him.

Edmund blanched. "That far?"

"Were you expecting somewhere else?" Squeakaneek asked.

"I've got to warn my brother," Edmund said, heading for the tunnel.

"Your brother?" repeated Cheepapeep.

He exchanged a look with the other Mouse before they followed along behind.

"And Susan and Lucy will probably want to know where I've been," Edmund continued, staggering out into the stone corridor. "Well, the real me, at least."

"Susan and Lucy?" echoed Squeakaneek. "As in Queen Susan and Queen Lucy?"

"Of course." Edmund tossed over his shoulder, bumping into the wall as his legs readjusted to movement.

"Then that would make you…" Cheepapeep trailed off in amazement.

"Who else did you think I was?" Edmund laughed, keeping a hand along the side of tunnel for both balance and as a guide through the dark.

"We thought maybe you might have been one of those Calormenes that are visiting Narnia," Squeakaneek admitted.

"Yes, we thought one of them had wandered off," Cheepapeep continued.

"You've obviously never seen a Calormen. And people generally don't end up bound in a cave just for wandering off," Edmund pointed out, although he didn't miss the irony regarding his first adventure a year ago.

"Certainly not, certainly not. We just didn't think, that is to say, we couldn't have imagined-" spluttered Cheepapeep.

"Your majesty." Squeakaneek performed an elegant bow, which his friend soon copied.

Edmund waved aside the formalities. "There's no need for that. I am the one who is indebted to you."

"What happened?" Cheepapeep shyly asked.

"It's a long story," Edmund dismissed. "But one that makes it of the utmost importance that I get back to the Cair as soon as I possibly can. I don't suppose either of you know of a horse nearby?" he asked, not expecting a favorable answer.

As he thought they might, both Mice shook their heads.

"How about food then?" Edmund asked, since his stomach chose that moment to emit a noisy growl.

"My wife has plenty of fruit and nuts in our nest!" Cheepapeep said.

"But not enough to satisfy a Man," Squeakaneek pointed out. "Not to mention, you live deeper in the forest, in the opposite direction from where he wants to go."

"I thank you for your offer though," Edmund reassured the Mouse when Cheepapeep's ears drooped. "I'm sure I'll survive until I reach the castle. You said it was fourteen leagues?" At Squeakaneek's nod, he continued, "I can make it in a day or so."

They rounded a bend in the tunnel and Edmund could see light ahead. It was his first glimpse of sunlight in days. His heart jumped a little at the sight. He quickened his steps, not caring that he stumbled. Finally, he burst out of the cold rock and into the heat of the afternoon sun. It blinded him, so he shut his eyes, threw back his head and laughed. Pure joy bubbled out of him, and he allowed himself a moment to simply soak up the warmth. He took deep breaths of the fresh air, so different from the magic-choked staleness of his prison. The aroma of dirt, the noise of the wind through the trees, the distant birdsong, everything seemed new all over again and Edmund relished the novelty of it all. He collapsed to the forest floor, digging his hands through the earth, the scattered leaves, the twigs and the pebbles. It was pure nature and he absorbed it all in wonder and gratitude.

"Sire, should we start our journey now?" Cheepapeep asked.

Edmund reluctantly opened his eyes, blinking against the dappled sun filtering through the tree branches. "I thank you for your help to me, but there is no need for you to come any farther."

"What do you mean?" queried Cheepapeep.

"You have already done more for me than I could ever hope to repay. There is danger where I am going and I can not ask you to participate in that with me." He looked Cheepapeep directly in the eye. "And I'm sure your wife would like to have you home."

"But surely, King Edmund, Cair Paravel is the safest place to be in Narnia," protested Squeakaneek.

"I'm afraid there is an insidious evil that has crept into it," Edmund replied gravely. "To that end, I bid you farewell, my good cousins." He knelt and bowed his head to each Mouse in turn.

"May Aslan guard you, my king," Squeakaneek said, bowing in return.

Cheepapeep also bowed before turning and heading into the woods. He turned back for one last look at Edmund. "And may He grant you victory."

Then both Mice disappeared down the path. Edmund watched until he could no longer see their twitching tails. When they were gone, he glanced over at what had been his prison. It was little more than a gouge in the earth, the entrance hardly visible. He wondered briefly who had made the tunnel and the cave at the end of it. But such musings only led to unpleasant memories and he quickly brushed those aside, choosing instead to begin his long walk home.

* * *

ChildofGod: I probably should have consulted with your doctor before I posted this fic. *crawls away from the couch* *invades your privacy to find your physician's number* *calls and asks if it's healthy for you to be so worked up and stressed*

NarniaGirl: Wow, thank you! I didn't know this story was that important to you =) You've been right about a lot of things so far. It makes me wish we could have collaborated on this fic. You always have good ideas and you're so kind!


	9. Chapter 9

My thanks to all my readers, as usual. Enjoy this next chapter!

* * *

Peter made his way back into the castle, brow furrowed as he mulled over the little Hedgehog's account. He didn't know what to make of it, try as he might to untangle it. It frustrated, and even frightened him, that there was anything that could make him doubt his own brother. But the evidence seemed to point to only one conclusion, no matter how unthinkable it was. The afternoon's activities were not the distraction he was hoping for. Rather than giving him a reprieve from his treacherous thoughts, the time spent with the Calormenes only exacerbated it. As Susan and Lucy were buried in last minute preparations for the feast the following night, and Edmund was holed up in his room, refusing to come out, Peter was obligated to hold court. He reluctantly extended the invitation for the foreign delegation to observe the process and they eagerly agreed.

As Animals of all kinds came forward, mostly with nothing more to say than how happy they were to be celebrating the defeat of the Witch and the fulfillment of the prophecy, Peter tried not to be distracted by the Calormenes. They stared at him with their dark eyes gleaming in their dark faces, stroking their dark beards with dark hands. Every now and then, one of them would grin, as if sharing in a private joke of which Peter was unaware. Even after the hearings were finished, and Peter led them to tour the stables, their smugness remained. It was a struggle for Peter not to be bothered by their haughtiness and he tried to remember if they had been acting this way for the entirety of their stay or if their behavior was a recent development. He couldn't recall and purposed to ask Susan about it later. When at last it was time for the desert-dwelling Calormenes to retire for their routine rest in the heat of the afternoon, Peter was relieved.

Finally free of the delegation, he sought out Susan, hoping to be of some use to her. He found her in the grand hall, surrounded by a multitude of Animals and Beasts, all clamoring for her attention, with questions to be answered, decisions to be made, details to be sorted, and choices to be approved. As he crossed the room, he was struck by how gracefully she was handling the chaos. She spoke clearly and confidently to each in their turn, addressing every issue with certainty. A Faun, holding a tray of wine flutes aloft, trotted past and Peter ducked quickly to avoid being hit. Three Bears formed a team to rearrange tables, followed by a train of Satyrs with the chairs. A Hound bounded into the room, with a basket of cutlery carried in its mouth. Peter was surprised to see Mrs. Beaver next to the canine, quickly setting out the appropriate place settings. He hadn't known the Beavers were able to make it to the celebration but he was glad to find they were. He waved to her and she returned the gesture cheerily before going back to her task. After nearly knocking into a Badger with a tablecloth, narrowly avoiding treading on a Leopard's tail, and stopping mid-step to allow a Centaur with an armload of candles to go by, Peter made it to Susan. He nodded to those who called out greetings to him, and waited patiently until it was his turn to ask for the Gentle Queen's attention.

"Oh, Peter," Susan said, brushing a stray piece of hair back from her forehead.

"You're doing marvelous," Peter told her.

"It's not nearly ready," Susan said, taking the two glasses offered to her by a Gorilla. She took a sip from each and handed them back. "We'll use that one." She pointed to the sample of red wine.

The Gorilla nodded and loped back to the kitchen. Peter grabbed Susan's hand.

"Have you had a break yet?" he asked.

She barely seemed to notice his question or that he had taken her hand. "I don't have time for one."

"I'm sure I can manage this for at least an hour," Peter offered.

Susan finally looked at him. "I don't know..."

"You'll do no one any good if you exhaust yourself before tomorrow," Peter said.

"True. But there's just so much left to do…" Susan trailed off again.

"And you've done more than your share," Peter assured her. "Let me help you."

She gave him a small smile. "Are you sure?"

"I would be delighted to," he stated.

"Alright then. The tables are almost finished. Just make sure the Bears arrange them straight, they have a tendency to angle them. The candles will need to be put into the holders, just as soon as Halfcrest delivers them," Susan directed. "The silverware must be placed on top of the napkins, not underneath. And Lucy should be here soon with the flowers."

"It shall be done, your highness," Peter assured her, giving her a soft push toward the door.

"Remind Birchtone she has yet to hang the drapes in the musician's quarters. And keep an eye on the Hounds. They keep trying to slip into the kitchens to sample tomorrow's supper," Susan added.

"I will," Peter promised, amazed at the amount of things Susan was keeping track of. "Now, go get some rest."

"Thank you," Susan said, walking out to her room.

Just as she exited one end of the hall, Lucy came bounding in through the other. There were flowers woven into her hair, and color in her cheeks, and Peter couldn't help smiling at the sight. A company of Dryads was close behind her, laughing musically, hair flowing. The ladies spun gracefully about the chamber, placing flowers in artistic ways along the walls, the tables, the trimmings, the candelabras, the windows and the doorways. The sweet scent of fresh blossoms filled the air, and many of those working in the area stopped to admire the aroma and the sight of the flowers. Lucy danced among the Dryads, her movement unconsciously coordinated with theirs. She moved with such natural ease, Peter was mesmerized as he observed her. When at last the floral arrangements were set, he caught up to Lucy, taking her hands and spinning her through several steps of a traditional Narnian dance before ending it with a twirl. Lucy collapsed against him, breathless and happy.

"Isn't it wonderful, Peter?" Lucy said, pointing at the garlands of flowers strung all over.

"It's fantastic," Peter agreed, giving her a quick squeeze. "Everyone's going to love it."

"I hope so," Lucy said, taking a step back. "Why can't it be tomorrow night already? This is almost as bad as waiting for Christmas!"

Peter chuckled. "Don't worry, Lu. You've only got one day left."

"I can't wait!" Lucy clapped her hands excitedly.

"Oh, Lucy, would you mind helping me with a few things? Susan's taking a break and she left me a list of instructions," Peter said.

Lucy feigned shock. "Susan took a break?"

"Not by choice," Peter corrected. "I sort of forced her out."

"Good. She needed one," Lucy approved. "She's been working nonstop on this celebration for months."

They spent the next hour getting the hall ready for the feast the following evening. As soon as all the tables were in straight lines, the chairs were pushed in, the cutlery placed with napkins, and the candles set in holders, they stepped back to admire their work. After deeming it complete, the two sovereigns personally thanked every Animal or Creature that had helped. After they had left the room and were walking down the hallway, Peter snapped his fingers.

"I nearly forgot! Susan asked me to do one more thing," he explained.

"What is it?" Lucy asked.

"I'm supposed to remind Birchtone about some curtains," Peter said.

Lucy tugged on his hand. "I think I know where she might be."

She led him through Cair Paravel, maintaining a lively conversation with him, even as they traversed hallways, mounted staircases, crossed halls, and passed spacious rooms. It was at the intersection of two corridors that Peter suddenly stopped. Lucy went on a few more paces before she noticed he was no longer beside her.

"Peter?" She walked back to him, noticing the confusion on his face. "What's wrong?"

"Do you hear that?" he asked.

"Hear what?" she queried.

He angled himself to face the hallway on the right. "Can't you hear that shouting? It sounds like Edmund."

Lucy frowned. "Why would Edmund be shouting?"

"I don't know. But I think we ought to find out," Peter replied, setting off quickly in the direction of the commotion, Lucy trotting beside him.

As they got closer, the scene became clear, and both Peter and Lucy were shocked by what they saw. Still ranting loudly, Edmund stood over a cowering girl, who Peter recognized as belonging to Uhanta's entourage. A bottle of wine, several goblets, and a serving tray were strewn across the floor near the pair. Without warning, Edmund raised his hand as if to strike the girl. Peter rushed forward and intercepted the blow, grabbing Edmund's wrist with enough force to bruise.

"Edmund! Have you gone mad? What do you think you're doing?" he demanded, eyes wide.

Lucy helped the girl to her feet, though it was obvious the maiden was still frightened for she ducked behind Lucy, staring at Edmund and quivering slightly.

"Let go," Edmund growled.

"Were you going to hit her?" Peter inquired, tone hard, even as his face was filled with incredulity.

"She's a stupid, clumsy wench," Edmund barked.

"Edmund!" Lucy reprimanded.

"And it's nothing she isn't used to," Edmund continued with a sneer, ignoring his little sister. "The Calormenes are allowed to do with their slaves as they see fit. If a beating is deserved, a beating is given."

"Lucy, take her and find a quiet spot to calm her down," Peter ordered, never taking his eyes off Edmund.

Without hesitation, Lucy followed Peter's direction. While the two girls made their escape, the kings stared at each other. Edmund's glare was defiant where Peter's was outraged.

"What's gotten into you, Ed? You're not yourself lately," Peter murmured, tightening his grip when Edmund tried to pull his hand away.

"You can't tell me how I am to act," Edmund hissed.

"As a king of Narnia-" Peter started.

"Keep your bloody lectures to yourself," Edmund snarled, tugging again on his hand.

Peter released it, but a flash of red caused him to snatch it once more.

"Get off," Edmund snapped.

But Peter was stronger, yanking Edmund's sleeve back up to expose his wrist. The skin was broken in thick lines, chafed and swollen. In the span of a second, Peter grabbed the other hand to see if the injury was the same on both wrists. Identical damage marred the second one and Peter inhaled sharply.

"What happened, Ed? It looks as though you've been bound," Peter said.

Edmund jerked his arms back defensively. "It's nothing. Why do you always insert yourself into my business? I don't need your help, or your pity, and I've certainly never asked for it. So why don't you do us both a favor and leave me alone?"

"Edmund, I'm your brother," Peter stated, as if that was the only explanation needed.

The response he received was not affectionate. Edmund merely rolled his eyes. "Yes, it's an unavoidable relationship, not one of my choosing."

"I'm worried about you," Peter said bluntly.

"You needn't bother. I can take care of myself," Edmund retorted, turning to walk away.

"Does this have something to do with the Witch?" Peter asked softly.

Edmund froze.

"The injuries, your behavior lately...is it because it's the year anniversary?" Peter pressed anxiously.

Shoulders tightening, Edmund said nothing. Peter crossed the distance between them and laid a hand on his brother's shoulder. It was immediately shrugged off but Peter didn't let that deter him.

"Has some dark magic returned to haunt you?" he questioned, ducking his head to search Edmund's downturned face. "Edmund, tell me."

"Just shut up," Edmund growled, giving Peter a hard shove in the chest before running down the hallway.

Peter watched him go, wanting to follow but knowing there was nothing more he could say if Edmund wasn't going to listen. With a heavy sigh, Peter turned to find Lucy. He located her talking quietly with the servant girl on a balcony overlooking the sea. Lucy had given the maid a cup of water, and she seemed to be recovering from her fright. But when Peter came out to join them, she abandoned it to throw herself at his feet, crying incoherently. Bewildered, Peter looked to Lucy, who could only shrug helplessly. Slowly, in order to avoid startling the girl, Peter knelt.

"It's alright, I'm not going to hurt you," he promised.

The girl flicked her eyes to his face before refocusing them on the ground.

Peter gently touched her arm. "What's your name?"

After swallowing her tears, the girl replied, "I am called Zinith."

"Please, rise, Zinith," Peter invited, helping her to her feet.

She allowed him to, but still did not meet his eyes. "I am most grateful to you, High King, for your intervention," she whispered.

Peter frowned. "I am sorry it was needed. I must apologize for my brother. He is not himself of late."

Lucy looked at him quizzically, but Peter minutely shook his head, leaving that conversation for another time. Lucy patiently accepted his decision.

"Zinith," he began, sorting through his mind for a delicate way to ask his next question. "Is what Edmund said true? Are you being mistreated by the tarkaan?"

Zinith's face went white but she mutely shook her head.

"You're safe here. You can tell us," Lucy encouraged.

Zinith only insisted on shaking her head again and refused to participate in any more conversation, no matter the subjects Peter and Lucy changed it to. Finally, she set down her cup on the railing.

"I must go before my master notices my absence," she said. Crossing over to Peter, she clasped his hand, bringing it to her mouth to press a kiss to his signet ring. "Thank you, your majesty."

"Zinith, if you need help, do not hesitate to let me know. I will do everything in my power to protect you," Peter stated.

She gave him a timid nod before leaving quickly. Peter watched her go and sighed.

"Can't we do more for her?" Lucy asked softly.

Reluctantly, Peter shook his head. "We can't interfere with the Calormenes or their customs. Without proof, there's no way we can take any action without being accused of meddling. If Zinith chooses not to say anything, then there's nothing more we can do to help her." He sighed again. "I'm worried Susan was right about the Calormenes," he mused aloud.

"I'm worried about Edmund," Lucy added, stepping closer to him. "I can't believe he was about to hit her! He wouldn't have, would he?" She looked to Peter for confirmation.

"I don't know," Peter admitted, stomach twisting with the thought of what could have happened in that hallway if he and Lucy hadn't interrupted.

"What's going on with him?" Lucy asked. "You look as though you have an idea."

Peter shrugged his shoulders glumly. "It's more of a guess, really."

"What's your guess then?" Lucy queried.

"Perhaps it has something to do with the Witch," Peter speculated.

Lucy immediately protested, "But Aslan killed her."

"I know. I saw it happen. But maybe there's some sort of dark magic that's lingered and now that it's the Year of Beruna, it's somehow getting stronger?" Peter said. "It might explain his strange behavior and…" he trailed off, not wanting to scare Lucy with the details of Edmund's mysterious injuries.

Pursing her lips in concentration, Lucy considered the theory. "If that is true, then how do we stop it?"

"I'm open to suggestions," Peter said with a wry smile.

"We'll figure something out," Lucy declared with her customary optimism.

"In the meantime," Peter threw an arm around her shoulder, "We still have a Dryad to find."

Having just finished his preparations for bed, Peter considered climbing under the covers and getting a good night's sleep before the big celebration the following day. But the moonlight streaming in through his window was enticing so he stepped out onto his balcony. The night enveloped him, wrapping him in warm breezes and darkness. The gentle lapping of waves against the beach provided a rhythm to the night, nature's heartbeat. He stared up into the clear sky, the constellations blazing brilliant within the silken void of space. A year ago, he had been in a tent, with his prodigal brother, waiting to battle evil for the freedom of an entire country. In the time since, he had experienced combat, been crowned, established new laws, passed judgement, practiced swordsmanship, drafted treaties, entertained royalty in his court, and reconnected with his siblings in a way he hadn't since before the war in...England.

He placed his forearms on the balustrade, leaning forward over them. The wind picked up the loose bits of his hair, toying with the blond strands. He shut his eyes, pushing aside the temptation to compare himself to the expectations placed upon by his subjects, his family, Aslan, or even his own idea of what he should amount to as a king. Instead, he emptied his mind, clearing away the memories, the doubts, the fears, the burdens, worries, cares, his apprehension about the future and his lack of belief in his own abilities. He simply inhaled, submitting to the ambient silence. During his reign thus far, he had discovered a refuge in the night. It was only when most others were asleep, tucked away safe and sound, that he realized he could relax. When there were no eyes fixed on him, watching and assessing his every move, weighing his every decision, demanding his attention for their problems, looking to him for strength and confidence and wisdom and direction, when at last he was free from their well-intentioned interest and rightful requests, he could slip out of being High King Peter the Magnificent and return to Peter Pevensie. Even if it was only for a few moments, the secret solitude of his midnight sanctuary was a luxury.

Behind him, there came the soft noise of slippers on the wooden floor of his bedroom. The steps were slow, and after a moment they stopped. He turned to look over his shoulder and saw Susan hesitating in the doorway, watching him. With a tip of his chin, he wordlessly invited her to join him. She picked up the hem of her nightgown and stepped out onto the terrace. Once next to him, she placed her hands on the railing near him and he absently covered hers with one of his. Tilting her head, she studied their hands for a minute before moving her gaze to the rest of him.

"You've grown," she murmured.

Peter laughed quietly. "I believe you're thinking of Edmund. He's really shot up these past few weeks."

"No, I meant since we first came to Narnia," Susan explained.

Peter's eyebrows came together.

"Your shoulders are broader. You've certainly put on more muscle. And yes, you've grown taller as well." Susan made a show of standing on her tiptoes to measure his height with her hand.

"It's only natural, I suppose," Peter mused.

"Narnia suits you," Susan complemented honestly. "Much better than Finchley ever did." She placed her head on his shoulder, staring out at the distant mountains. "I can't believe it's been a year," she whispered. "So much has changed. But it seems to have happened so fast."

"Indeed," Peter agreed.

"Do you suppose they've noticed we're gone? Back there, in England?" Susan wondered hesitantly.

Peter had no answer to give, so he pressed a gentle kiss to the top of her head and curled an arm around her shoulder. They stood that way for hours, watching the stars wheel overhead as the night moved toward dawn.

* * *

ChildofGod: Okay, you seem much better now. *puts away the paper bag I was going to hand you to help with the hyperventilating* *notices a golden glow surrounding me* Ooo! Shiny! It must be all the blessings =)

NarniaGirl: Aww, yay! Now you know how I feel when I see you reviewed :D Sorry for the long names of the mice but I noticed how the names in Prince Caspian were similar to the ones in LWW so I assumed Narnians keep names in the family and tried to write accordingly. Bear with me a little longer and we'll finally see the resolution to the story that we're all waiting on ;)


	10. Chapter 10

I'm just barely making the Wednesday update deadline, haha! (Is twice a week too much? I know I personally don't have enough free time to be on this site reading that often. Please be honest so I can figure out future story update schedules!)

* * *

"Peter! Peter! It's the Year of Beruna, Peter! Wake up!" Lucy's excited squeal came only seconds before she launched herself on Peter's bed.

Peter grunted when her weight landed on his stomach. She was getting too big to be jumping on him like that. But he secretly hoped she wouldn't grow out of the habit for another three years, at least.

"Is the sun even up yet?" Peter asked, keeping his eyes shut. "Or do we have to go over what we discussed at Christmas?"

"The sun takes longer to rise in the winter," Lucy defended.

"Yes, but it was your second Christmas of the year," Peter pointed out.

"It's not as though I told Father Christmas he had to come again," Lucy said. "It was his choice to come during the Thaw and then return for the actual Christmas Day."

"Well, it's nice to see that you show equal enthusiasm for ever holiday," Peter noted after turning his head to find only the first blush of dawn coloring the sky.

"I can't help it," Lucy giggled, hopping up and down on her knees. "I'm so excited."

"I see that," Peter chuckled.

"Won't you come down to the shore with me?" Lucy asked.

Peter pursed his lips.

"Come on, Peter, pretty please?" Lucy pleaded, tilting her head and batting her eyes at him.

Just as she knew he would, Peter caved. "Alright, Lu."

She grinned brightly and leaped off his bed.

"Shouldn't we change out of our nightclothes first?" Peter asked, watching her with amusement.

Lucy planted a hand on her hip. "We don't have time! Besides, doesn't it make more sense to get these wet and then change out of them into our clothes for the day rather than changing into a separate outfit inbetween?"

Peter conceded the point. "That makes sense."

"Of course it does. Now come on!" Lucy seized his hand and pulled him from his mattress.

Together they ran, barefoot and laughing, through Cair Paravel then out into the courtyard and out the gate down to the beach. The sea foam tickled their ankles as they raced each other through the surf. The crystal water shimmered in the rosy glow of the early morning. The two rulers splashed, sprayed and squirted each other playfully. Only once the sun broke over the horizon and shone directly in their eyes, blinding them, did they stop their games. They collapsed on the sand, breathless, soaked, and happy.

"I love this," Lucy sighed contentedly, lying down on her back with her hands behind her head.

"Love what?" Peter asked.

Lucy waved a hand in the air vaguely before putting it back under her head. "The sea, the sun, the sky, the sand. Cair Paravel. Narnia. Everything."

Peter smiled down at her fondly. "Don't ever change, Lucy Pevensie."

Edmund cracked an eye open. The first thing he saw was a beetle. It scuttled across a mossy log before disappearing into a clump of grass. Unalarmed by the bug, Edmund let his eyelid fall again and he burrowed his face into his arm. Then his brain processed what he had seen and he wondered why there was a beetle in his bed. After that, he realized he was not in his bed but rather, he was laid out on the forest floor. At least that accounted for the bug and it also explained why no one had come to wake him yet. Curious, he rolled over onto his back and peered up at the sun through squinted eyes. It was well on its way to the height of the sky and a jolt of panic shot through Edmund as he remembered where he was and why. He bolted into a sitting position, all traces of sleep fleeing. Scrambling to his feet, he cursed himself for oversleeping. As he started off at a light jog, he did a few calculations in his head, wondering how long it would take for him to get to Cair Paravel. His mood sunk when he came to the conclusion that he would be unable to maintain the pace necessary to reach the castle before nightfall.

The depressing prediction nearly defeated him before he'd even begun. Knowing that the limits of his body would defeat the desire of his mind was difficult to accept. Out of options, nearly without hope, there was only one thing he could do. He whispered a fast, fervent prayer to Aslan, asking for salvation for his brother and sisters, for his country. Edmund didn't know what the Wraith's plans were, or if he could stop them, but he trusted the Lion would be able to. Just as it had happened in the cave, so now Edmund felt peace descend on him, the lifting of a burden.

No longer bearing the sole responsibility of being savior, Edmund moved with a lighter step, his feet carrying him swiftly through the woods. The sun continued to climb, and Edmund continued to run. He stopped by a creek for a drink to refresh himself before resuming his self-appointed task. But eventually his strength began to flag and he was forced to slow down. It was frustrating but his burning lungs and aching muscles would not allow him to do anything else. Suddenly, a Deer jumped out of the trees and onto the path ahead of him. Upon recognizing her, Edmund hailed the creature and the Animal immediately turned around.

"King Edmund!" she exclaimed.

"Luna," Edmund greeted.

"Pardon my asking, but what are you doing here?" the Doe questioned.

"You say that as if I don't regularly visit," Edmund pointed out.

"Of course you come often to the Wood, and I am always pleased to see you, sire," Luna hurriedly backtracked. "What I rather meant to ask was why you are not at the palace, today of all days?"

"What's today?" Edmund queried.

Luna's large brown eyes widened. "Don't you know?"

"I've rather lost track of time," Edmund sheepishly admitted.

"It's the Year of Beruna," Luna reminded. "There are celebrations being held all across Narnia. I was on my way to Cair Paravel, since your sister, Queen Susan, has extended the invitation to any who wish to come."

"What a coincidence, that also is my destination," Edmund chuckled.

"I doubt those human legs of yours could accomplish the task before nightfall," Luna scoffed in good humor.

Edmund held his breath, not daring to ask for the help he desperately needed, knowing that riding a Talking Animal was a grave insult without prior permission. Luna blinked at him. He blinked back.

"Would you like a mount?" Luna finally inquired.

"I thought you'd never ask," Edmund laughed.

Luna knelt so he could climb onto her back. "I do caution you though. I am not strong enough to carry you the entire way."

"Just tell me when you need a rest and I will dismount straightway," Edmund assured her. "I do thank you, good cousin. Truly, you are an answer to my prayer."

If Deer could blush, Luna's velvet nose would have been red. "Such kind words," she said demurely.

"It is the truth," Edmund stated as she sprang into motion. "For there is another matter that requires my presence at the Cair, aside from the feast."

"Indeed?" Luna prodded.

"Yes," Edmund affirmed without revealing more.

"Then I shall endeavor to make all haste," Luna vowed.

The afternoon passed by in a blur of song, lively dance, storytelling, history lessons, personal testimonies, tearful outpourings of gratitude, dedications of artwork, and throngs of joyful subjects. Narnians had gathered from every corner of the country to commemorate the defeat of the White Witch. From the Bats of the Owlwoods, to the Leopards of Cauldron Pool, to the Nymphs of Glasswater Creek, the citizens came to rejoice with their sovereigns, no matter the distance that had to be traveled. It was a merry gathering. The castle was filled to capacity, and bursting with noise as its inhabitants celebrated their freedom.

Everywhere Peter turned, there was a Narnian bowing to him, thanking him for his part in the battle against the Witch and complimenting his skills as a warrior and king. The open admiration flustered him and he attempted to find one of his siblings, hoping to gain strength from the camaraderie with his family. Lucy never left the dance floor, and Peter wondered how she hadn't fallen down sick with dizziness after all the spinning and twirling she wholeheartedly participated in. Susan was constantly moving, speaking with each attendee and hearing their side of the story of the events from a year ago. Edmund, Peter discovered, had planted himself on the outskirts of the party. This would not have surprised Peter except for the fact that Edmund was not alone. Instead, he was with the Calormenes, all of whom remained seated and watched the revelries with expressions ranging from muted curiosity to outright scorn.

"Do the festivities not please you, Tarkaan?" Peter inquired politely, resting his hand on the pommel of his sword, part of his ceremonial outfit.

Uhanta glanced at him before he returned to scanning the crowd. "Your excellency, do not take my lack of participation as an insult. Within my heart, I am euphoric on your behalf. It was indeed an incredible victory you won over your enemy. The only thing that prohibits me from joining in these exuberant celebrations is my lack of familiarity with the customs of your stupendous land. In Tashbaan, the Tisroc (may he live forever), does not conduct holidays in the manner you do, oh King Peter."

Peter nodded, uninterested in a conversation with the visiting dignitary. He moved his focus over to Edmund, the true reason why he approached the Calormen's group.

"Edmund, may I have a word with you?" he asked.

The younger king rolled his eyes but pushed away from the pillar he was leaning against, albeit reluctantly, to join Peter. "What?" he grunted, taking a sip from the goblet in his hand.

Peter frowned. "Please tell me that's only water."

"It's only water," Edmund smirked, the expression implying the opposite.

With only an eyebrow raised to show his disapproval, Peter allowed the matter to drop without further comment. He took Edmund's elbow and led him to a small alcove, the most private place he could find in the midst of the party.

"Are you alright?" Peter questioned earnestly. "I had meant to ask you sooner, but I didn't see you at all this morning and then we had that ceremony, and then there was the procession, and then the festivities sort of began and I lost track of you-" His words tumbled over one another in his haste to explain himself.

"Of course I am," Edmund snorted. "Why wouldn't I be?"

Peter reared back. "Why wouldn't...Ed, do you mean to tell me none of this bothers you?"

Edmund shook his head, nonchalantly drinking his wine.

"The constant talk of last year isn't stirring any unpleasant memories in here?" Peter tapped Edmund's forehead.

The other boy ducked out of his reach. "No."

Peter blinked, perplexed. He puzzled over how he himself could be so affected by the past events when Edmund, whose experience had been far worse, was so apathetic. Edmund brought the cup to his lips again and narrowed his eyes at Peter over the rim.

"Did you think you were going to help me? You fancy yourself my hero, coming in to rescue me from my melancholy and despair?" he mocked, lowering the goblet. "Have you ever considered that perhaps I'm not the one who needs help? You're just looking for a way to distract yourself from your own weaknesses. All I'm going to say to you is to find someone else to cater to your pathetic need to feel in control," he hissed before sauntering off to rejoin the Calormenes.

Stunned by the venom of Edmund's words, Peter could only watch in wounded silence as he left. He stood frozen in the niche for some time, the happy noise of the partygoers merely a drone in the background. Caught up in his own thoughts, he jumped when a hand touched his shoulder.

"Sorry, I didn't meant to startle you," Susan apologized.

"It's alright," Peter said, shaking off his moroseness.

"What are you doing all the way over here by yourself? Do you have any idea how many people have been asking for you? Or how long it took for me to find you?" Susan asked in rapid succession. Without giving him time to answer, she gathered her skirts and turned back to the main area. "Come on, it's nearly time to begin the feast."

As Peter followed her, the aroma of the freshly made meal filled the air. Many of the Animals' noses were twitching, and some even licked their lips in anticipation. Susan spread her arms wide in the air, calling for attention.

"Good Narnians, tonight we celebrate Aslan's victory over the White Witch, and the Spring he brought back to the land. The table is now set, the food prepared. Come and enjoy the bounty with which our Great Lion has blessed us!" she invited, tone carrying through the room like a sweet melody.

A pair of Satyrs threw open the doors to the Great Hall, revealing rows of tables overflowing with all manner of delicious dishes. Meats, vegetables, puddings, bread, fish, cheese, fruit and cakes sat on silver platters. The glow of hundreds of candles, combined with the elegantly arranged flowers, created an almost ethereal atmosphere. Peter took Susan on his arm, escorting her at the head of the procession into the chamber. Edmund and Lucy came behind them, and the four took their place at the head of the table in the center of the room. The Narnians surged into the space around them, filling every seat. All eyes turned to the high king, waiting until he had sampled the food first to start eating.

"For our land, for our freedom, for our families, we give you thanks, Aslan," Peter said in a strong, clear voice.

Then he took a bite and the feast began.

* * *

ChildofGod: Thanks, I was rather fond of that scene too :) You'll have to join the queue for that-from what I've gathered from the reviews, the wraith has made a lot of enemies. *puts on sunglasses* Do these shades make me look cool? *searches for a mirror*

Guest: Thank you! I'm happy to hear that :)

Guest: The next chapter should be very exciting for you ;)


	11. Chapter 11

Okay, I hope you don't mind if I ask for your input _again,_ but I tried putting two story-lines (or POV or whatever you want to call it) in the chapter simultaneously so I'd like to know if it's confusing or if it works.

And to whoever has been recommending this story to other readers-Wow! Thank you, I'm so flattered! You totally made my day :D

( _Minor edit-due to feedback, I'm adding a way to distinguish pov)_

* * *

"You are keeping pace very well, King Edmund," Luna remarked as they jogged together on the main road.

After hours alternating between riding and walking, the pair had made it out of the Woods and were now nearly to their destination. Cair Paravel was just ahead of them. The white stone of the castle absorbed the scarlet light from the setting sun, causing the walls to glow iridescently.

"Thanks," Edmund said, unwilling to share the reason for his haste.

What had started out as a vague sense of unease earlier in the day had grown into a toxic blend of fear and urgency. It was powerful enough to make itself physically known in the nausea curdling his stomach. He didn't know why, but somehow he knew for certain that his family was in danger this very night. Perhaps it was Lion-sent, his feeling of imminent peril. The dread gave him strength, kept his taxed muscles in motion, allowed him to ignore the hunger, thirst, and soreness that plagued him.

"I think I can manage to carry you the last bit of the way," Luna offered, slowing her steps.

"Are you certain?" Edmund asked. "You've done so much already."

"It would be my honor to bear Narnia's hero to the gates of his castle," Luna said, coming to a halt.

Edmund stopped as well, a faint blush creeping into his cheeks. "You say that as if I did something extraordinarily brave."

"You did," Luna declared. "Breaking the Witch's wand was an extremely courageous act. One which will forever be attached to your name. There will be stories told and songs sung throughout the ages. What you did on that battlefield will never be forgotten."

Uncomfortable with the praise, Edmund shifted his weight from foot to foot. "It's what anyone else would have done."

"Nay, my lord. Many had the chance to try, but none had the wit, save yourself. It was not only brave but clever," Luna argued, bending low to allow him to mount.

The pink flush on his face darkened to red and Edmund couldn't reply as he climbed onto her back. Springing off her hind legs, Luna sprinted the last league to Cair Paravel. As soon as she reached the courtyard, Edmund sprang off her back and bolted into the castle. Ignoring the exquisite decorations, he raced through the palace.

OoO

Peter surveyed the room, savoring the sight of so many smiling faces. This was what he had fought for, the reason he had put on unfamiliar armor and wielded his blade, why he had waged a seemingly hopeless battle against an unfathomable evil. The joy and fellowship of the Animals and magical Creatures gathered beneath the vaulted ceiling of Cair Paravel was well worth the terror and pain he had experienced that day.

Beside him, Edmund scraped his chair back. Peter glanced at him quizzically, but Edmund merely winked at him before rising from his seat. He grabbed his goblet and called for attention. Gradually, the din of conversation and the clatter of dishes and silverware died down as those who noticed the standing king hushed their neighbors. When the hall at last fell silent, Edmund raised his cup.

"I'd like to make a toast!" he announced. "To our beloved high king! My brother! On this very day, only one year ago, he led our army against the White Witch. He rose up in arms against her and her faithful followers. With much courage and great fortitude, he cut down his foes. If it were not for him, we would not have triumphed."

Caught off guard by the impromptu speech, Peter merely stared at him.

OoO

Edmund sprinted past the traces of festivity left in many of the rooms. Empty goblets, scattered flower petals, rearranged furniture, he paid no mind to any of it, focused as he was on his task. As he drew closer to his destination, any fatigue that may have threatened his body vanished in the face of his anxiety. Through many passages and halls he ran, up and down staircases, across the building he had come to memorize and call home.

OoO

"For his part in delivering us, we owe him a debt, one we can not repay," Edmund continued. "It was his wisdom in planning our battle strategies, his unwavering determination as he executed those plans, his fearless example of strength that won the day."

Peter squirmed imperceptibly, feeling awkward on account of Edmund's extravagant words. His discomfort was exacerbated by the fact that he knew the glory truly belonged to Aslan. He was sure Edmund knew that as well, and could only guess why the other king was choosing to leave that part out of his speech.

OoO

Heart pounding, lungs gasping, Edmund pushed himself on.

OoO

"The high king utterly vanquished that vast horde of evil. He slew scores of the Fell creatures, leaving their foul bodies bleeding on the Field of Beruna. May their blood be the river that waters our future! We shall build with their bones, construct our prosperity from their corpses!" Edmund yelled, a near manic gleam in his eye.

Many in the room gasped at his bold statements, murmuring to one another. Peter and Susan exchanged a worried look. The Calormenes nodded approvingly, and Edmund locked his gaze on Khasis, seated just behind the Narnian monarchs.

"Long live the king," he murmured. Then he faced the room at large, thrusting his goblet high into the air. "Long live the king!"

The cheer was taken up by the crowd, echoing all across the chamber. Lucy and Susan remained motionless, white faced and silent.

OoO

Edmund threw himself around a corner, heading directly for the Great Hall. From his current location, he could hear voices, loud shouts filling the air. The doorway was in front of him now, just at the end of the corridor. Through the opening, he could see the Wraith, guised as it was in his image.

OoO

As the chorus reverberated among their subjects, Edmund deliberately set his goblet on the table and slowly opened his arms, staring expectantly at Peter. Hesitantly, Peter stood, moving into the embrace.

OoO

Edmund watched as Peter rose to face the Creature. And Edmund's pulse stuttered as the Wraith slipped a dagger from its sleeve to its hand.

"Peter!" he cried. "Look out!"

Peter whirled around, shocked. There, running into the room, was Edmund. A thin, dirty, bruised Edmund, but Edmund all the same. He spun back around to the copy of his brother. The Edmund in front of him, face contorted with rage, swung at him with something that glittered dangerously in the candlelight. Instinctively, Peter ducked. He pivoted on his heel, and grabbed at his assailant's wrist. The Creature, for Peter knew now it was not his sibling, pulled out of his reach. It leaped onto the table. Captivated by the strange spectacle, the Narnians looked on, paralyzed. Peter tried to catch its leg but it jumped away, rushing toward Edmund. Anticipating the attack, Edmund charged to meet it. Using his momentum to his advantage, he caught it around the middle and threw them both to the floor.

It snarled at him, squirming wildly beneath him and attempting to buck him off. He straddled it forcefully, pinning it between his knees while he went after the dagger in its hand. The blade flashed as the Wraith flailed, and it drew blood when it happened to nick Edmund's cheek. He grunted and seized the beast's arm with both hands, shoving it to the ground. He dug his finger into the pressure points on the wrist until his opponent dropped the dagger. Edmund immediately leaned forward to pick up the knife, but as soon as the Wraith felt a change in his weight distribution, it surged up, flipping them over so it was on top of Edmund. As his own face loomed above him, spitting curses and spewing threats, he spied a chain peeking out from under the collar of the velvet tunic it wore. In one rapid motion, he snatched the necklace while simultaneously bringing his knee up into its stomach. The Wraith tumbled off him and Edmund rolled to his feet.

"Ed!" Peter called, weaving his way quickly through the maze of tables, chairs, and petrified subjects.

Edmund held up the chain he had stolen. It was the same one he had seen the Wraith with in the cave. The vial of blood dangled in the middle of the silver links, swaying hypnotically. Just as the Fell was getting up, Edmund slammed the vial against the floor. Glass shattered and blood sprayed. The Wraith shrieked in an earsplitting mixture of Edmund's voice and its own. It convulsed, face quivering, limbs shaking. Abruptly, it exploded into a cloud of black vapor. It shot at Edmund but he dropped to the floor. After cutting through the air where he had been, it darted up to the ceiling before diving down low and skimming just above the heads of the Narnians. Cries of fear and surprise filled the room as the citizens came under attack.

Occupied with tracking the Wraith's flight through the room, Peter didn't notice Lucy move until she was standing on her chair, the knife from her apportioned set of dining cutlery poised in her fist.

"Lucy!" he shouted.

She never took her eyes off her target. When the Wraith wheeled around a corner to come for another pass, she threw her makeshift weapon. Her aim was true. The knife flew straight into the Wraith. And clattered harmlessly against the wall. Taken off guard by the ineffectiveness of her weapon, Lucy was startled when the Fell turned toward her. She quickly hopped off her chair and ducked under the table.

Despite the fact that it appeared impervious to blades, Peter drew his sword. Rhindon glittered in the candlelight, proud and deadly. The flash of it caught the Wraith's attention and it rushed at Peter. He dodged, spinning out of the way before taking a step forward and swiping his sword at it. The tip of the blade dragged through the edge of the Wraith's insubstantial form and it let out an enraged scream. Peter glanced down at his sword, coming to the realization that the gifted blade could harm the creature as nothing else could. Setting his jaw, he raised the sword again, preparing to strike. The Wraith came at him in a spiraling cloud. It avoided his blade and slammed into him, knocking him to the floor. Rhindon flew out of his hand, skittering across the floor to come to a rest beneath Susan's chair. Shaking off the hit his head had taken, Peter climbed shakily to his knees, defenseless, staring up at his attacker. The Wraith dived for him, incorporeal arms stretched menacingly, claws leveled at his chest.

"Peter!" Susan sent his sword sliding back toward him.

But there was no time. The Wraith was already on him. The next instant was a chaotic blur. Something propelled into Peter, crashing to the ground on top of him, the Wraith howled, Susan screamed, and the rank stench of evil washed over him. Immediately, he pushed himself up onto his hands and looked around for the object that had collided with him. His breath stuttered when he recognized the form of his brother, lying prone beside him.

"Ed?" he murmured in wonder.

Edmund didn't respond. Peter gently rolled him over. There was blood. The front of Edmund's tunic was turning a ruddy color, the torn fabric revealing the gashes the Wraith had made in his abdomen. The sight of it caused Peter's limbs to lock and his heart to freeze.

"Peter!" his sisters called in unison, their terrified voices yanking him out of his shock.

Righteous fury ignited in his chest and he lunged over Edmund, grasping Rhindon in one blood-slicked fist. He rose, planted his feet on either side of Edmund's body, setting himself in a firm defensive stance, eyes burning and jaw clenched. The Wraith hovered in front of him, a ghostly face sneering from the blackness of its form.

"Now you know my paaaaaain," it hissed.

"What?" Peter demanded, gritting his teeth.

"Death must be repaid with deeeeeath," it cackled.

With an angry yell, Peter leaped forward, plunging his sword into the middle of the dark swirling mist. The Wraith screamed, the noise of it flooding the chamber. Peter dug the blade in further, thrusting it deep and twisting. The Wraith's scream reached a crescendo before the creature imploded, seeming to suck all light with it as it died. Every candle flame in the room vanished, leaving the Narnians in total blackness.

Peter sheathed his sword and dropped to his knees, searching for Edmund's body by touch alone. His questing hands soon found the blood saturated cloth of Edmund's shirt. He leaned forward, applying pressure to the wounds. Chaos was bubbling up around him as the crowd began to panic. It was Susan's firm commands that brought order to the hysteria.

"Everyone, please calm yourselves. The danger has passed, the threat has been defeated. Remain in your seats," she said. "Mr. Tumnus, fetch a candle from the sconce in the hallway. Birchtone, as soon as he returns, light a candle at one table and have them pass it around to light the rest of the candles, while you move on to the next table and do it again. Continue until all the tables have a light."

"Lucy," Peter choked.

His voice was lost in the sea of babel, trampled by the chatter of the agitated assembly.

"Lucy!" he bellowed, feeling the blood bubbling up from beneath his fingers. "Lucy, your cordial! Hurry!"

A glimmer of gold at one end of the room indicated Tumnus' return. Birchtone met him in the doorway, touching the candle in her hand to the one in his. The Dryad quickly stepped to the closest table and replicated the process, demonstrating it for the table's occupants. Tumnus started the chain at another table and soon the warm glow of firelight swelled throughout the chamber.

The flickering illumination caused the bruises on Edmund's face to contrast with the pallid skin beneath. Peter swallowed hard, his anxiety escalating as the extent of Edmund's injuries became visible. Three claw marks marred his stomach, deep cuts that bled profusely. As Peter pressed down on the wounds, he leaned forward.

"Edmund? Edmund?" he called.

Edmund's eyelashes fluttered before revealing slits of brown. "Did you get it?"

Peter nodded, agitated.

"Good," Edmund sighed. "There's only room for one handsome devil in Narnia at a time."

A bark of laughter tumbled out of Peter's throat, unexpected and short.

"I was getting tired of seeing my own face," Edmund quipped before dissolving into a painful coughing fit.

"Now you know how we feel," Susan teased, tone thick with tears, as she sunk down onto her knees.

She gently lifted Edmund's head and placed it in her lap. Edmund grimaced.

"Sorry," Susan whispered, carding her fingers through his hair comfortingly.

"He looks terribly pale."

The unexpected voice at Peter's ear made him jump and he jerked, causing Edmund to groan in pain. Peter whipped his head around to see Tumnus hovering awkwardly close to him. Behind the Faun, other concerned Narnians were gathering to see what had become of their king.

"The poor thing," Mrs. Beaver murmured, placing a paw on Peter's shoulder.

Peter shuddered away from her kind touch.

"His wounds are quite severe," Oreius observed gravely.

"Is he going to make it?" asked one voice.

"That's a lot of blood!" chimed another.

"Should we send for the healers?" someone asked.

"Oughtn't we to move him?"

"He should stay put."

"What was that creature?"

"It was dark magic! I could smell it!"

"Has the Witch returned?"

"Are we to fall beneath her curse again?!"

"What are we to do?"

The crowd was overwhelming, pressing in on all sides. All Peter could see was fur and paws and legs. Surrounding him on all sides. Blocking out the light. And their voices, so many different voices, talking at once. The noise crashed into his ears. Echoed in his mind. Pounded against his skull. Breath quickening, Peter struggled to keep himself in control under the onslaught of stimuli. Then a pair of hands reached for Edmund and Peter erupted.

"Get back! All of you!" he roared. "Leave him alone!" With a snarl on his lips, he gathered Edmund close to himself, eyes flashing.

"Your majesty, if you will allow us to take him, we can-"

"No!" Peter growled, adrenaline still running its course through his body.

"Peter, they're just trying to help," Susan reminded softly.

With the blood soaking into the fine fabric of his tunic, Peter shook his head. "They can't. Lucy."

"What?" Susan frowned. "It's Susan, Peter. I'm Susan."

"Lucy," Peter repeated, scanning the mass of faces around him for his youngest sister.

Realization dawned on Susan and she gestured for their audience to part. "Back up. Make room."

Peter glanced down at Edmund. Edmund's eyes had slipped shut and his breathing was scarcely strong enough to lift his chest. "Edmund." Peter gently jostled him. "Edmund." He shook him more roughly, wanting to get some kind of reaction. "Edmund."

"Careful, Peter," Susan chided.

"Ed!" Peter yelped, shaking him violently.

"Peter!" Susan scolded.

Eyes blurred with subconscious tears, Peter fumbled to press his fingers to Edmund's neck. He raised his gaze to Susan with a terrified expression. "I can't feel his heartbeat. Susan, his heart's not beating!"

Susan gasped, her hand flying to her mouth.

"No. No, please. Aslan, no," Peter murmured in horror. "No. Edmund."

"Move! Let me through!" Lucy shoved her way through the throng of onlookers. "Here, I've got it!" she announced to Peter.

Peter shifted Edmund to face her, and felt bile rise in his throat when Edmund's head lolled limply on his neck. Carefully, Peter cradled the back of his head in his palm, supporting it so Lucy could pour a single drop between Edmund's lax lips. Then came the awful wait. The seconds spent wondering if the magic would work, praying for a miracle. A minute passed. And another. A tear spilled out the corner of Peter's eye, tracing a shimmering trail down his cheek.

"It shouldn't be taking this long, should it?" Lucy questioned, nearly inaudible.

Susan stood swiftly and circled Lucy with her arms. Lucy's expression crumpled and she began weeping.

"Peter," Susan begged, her own tears falling.

Peter remained where he was. "It's going to work. It worked before."

"Peter," Susan tried again.

"There are four thrones," Peter stated, voice trembling.

"But-" Susan tried.

"Aslan called us here. He wanted us to rule this country," Peter defended with conviction. "Together."

Oreius stepped forward. "High King Peter."

Peter blinked up at him with a mixture of despair and defiance. "He's my brother."

"He's gone," Oreius sorrowfully corrected.

With a soundless cry of anguish, Peter bent over and touched his forehead to Edmund's. Edmund's eyes flew open and he gasped in a breath. Surprised, Peter reared back.

"Edmund?" he whispered in disbelief.

A smirk lifted the corner of Edmund's mouth. "Once again, the one and only."

Without warning, Peter scooped him up and crushed him to his chest, arms wrapped tightly around him. Edmund didn't protest, savoring the contact with the brother he had been separated from for days. He returned the embrace with equal force, grateful and relieved Peter had not been harmed. Susan released a watery laugh and both girls threw themselves at the boys. Peter was unprepared for the sudden weight and the Pevensies tumbled backward in a joyful tangle of limbs and tears. The Narnians let out a cheer when they saw their king returned to full health. They bayed, hooted, and hollered as their species dictated. There was applause and whistling, laughing and stomping.

"I hope this isn't going to become a yearly tradition," Peter commented as his siblings extricated themselves from the pile they'd landed in.

"You know Edmund has a bad habit of not listening to you," Susan teased.

"And just when did Peter ever tell me I wasn't allowed to fight a Wraith?" Edmund countered.

"You call that fighting?" Lucy ribbed.

Peter rolled his eyes in exasperation. "How about all those times I told you to stay out of trouble? Or to be safe? And to not get yourself killed?"

"Well, when you put it like that…" Edmund shrugged sheepishly.

Chuckling softly, Peter slung an arm across Edmund's shoulders and drew him into his side.

"If you would pardon my intrusion," Tumnus said. "I would very much like an explanation."

His inquiry reminded Peter that there was more to the world than the warmth of Edmund beside him. Peter took a moment to survey the room. Overturned chairs, spilled wine, dropped dishes, splattered food and unlit candles only added to the overall harried atmosphere. Most of the Narnians were out of their seats, looking to him for an answer as to why their feast had been endangered by a creature that had been posing as one of their sovereigns. Peter opened his mouth but Susan spoke first.

"At another time. Suffice it to say, the danger has passed. I pray you, fair cousins, do not allow this incident to spoil the night's festivities," she said, easily transitioning from worried sister to confident leader. "Let us adjourn to the planned bonfire, while our kings clean themselves. King Peter will give an address at the proper time."

The boys glanced down at their blood-soaked clothing and nodded their thanks to Susan. She gave them a quick smile before heading up the procession that exited the hall. Lucy went to give Edmund a final hug but he stopped her before she made contact. Confusion crossed her face.

"I'm a mess, Lucy," he explained. "I don't want to soil your dress."

"I don't care," she argued.

"But Susan does," Peter cut in.

"Yes. And I think one brush with death is enough for me tonight," Edmund quipped.

Lucy stuck her lip out in a pout.

"Don't worry, Lu. I'll get him cleaned up and bring him down to the beach. Then you can hug him till your arms fall off," Peter promised.

That satisfied Lucy and she settled for a grin and a peck on Edmund's cheek before she raced out after Susan, calling back over her shoulder, "Don't be too long!"

* * *

ChildofGod: Poison would have been a clever thing for it to do, but I don't think it ever had the opportunity to get near Peter's food. I would be emotionally destroyed if you told me you didn't **like** me. Thanks, I like updating twice (since it gives me an opportunity to smile at all the lovely reviews I get ;) ), I just don't want to be inconsiderate to other busy folks. *Sends selfie to a print shop and orders a 12 foot copy* *hangs it on the wall* *hands you a sharpie to autograph it*

Guest 2: Oh. You have a good point-I hadn't even thought of how the deer would react to seeing him like that. I hope this chapter was heated enough for you ;)

NarniaGirl: Thanks, I'd love to keep the same schedule so we'll see how it goes next time :) Was this as ugly as you imagined? At least it all worked out in the end ;) And I would take late over never every single time!

Hey Girl Hayy: Thank you so much! I'm glad you decided to give it a try :) Yes, by the end of their reign, they were quite comfortable drinking wine with every meal but it's only been a year since they were sipping tea in England so...


	12. Chapter 12

I wish I had words to describe how grateful I am to all of you. You have been an incredible audience! Your sweet, encouraging, and enthusiastic reviews have consistently brought a huge grin to my face-they have literally been the highlight of the past few weeks for me! This fic was my first in the fandom and the response has been overwhelmingly positive so I hope to continue writing in it. I tried several things I hadn't before as an author, went a little outside my usual writing box, challenged myself, and ended up with the longest word count I've ever had on a single project. And you have been a part of it! So please enjoy this last chapter and have a very Merry Christmas and a wonderfully Happy New Year! :D

(okay, enough rambling SolarRose, just let them get to the chapter)

* * *

Peter stepped over to the table where he had been sitting to fetch Edmund a drink. As he did, his foot knocked against something that scraped metallically against the floor. He retrieved the object, the dagger the Wraith had attempted to stick in his back. He raised an eyebrow as he recognized the distinctively curved blade as Calormen craftsmanship. After handing a goblet of wine to Edmund with one hand, Peter showed him the knife in the other. Edmund's eyebrows furrowed over the edge of the cup. The Calormen delegation had not yet left the room and Peter turned his body so that he faced them, putting the dagger in plain view.

"I say, Edmund, but this is a rather odd weapon for a follower of the Witch to have, isn't it?" he asked in a loud voice, surreptitiously watching the foreign dignitaries for a reaction. "It appears to be Calormen in design, does it not?"

The Calormenes plastered expressions of bewildered innocence to their faces, except for Khasis, who didn't bother to hide his sullenness. They avoided looking in his direction, pretended they couldn't hear his pointed inquiries, and strolled from the room with as much subtlety as a Rhino in a Beaver's dam. Peter's fist clenched around the hilt of the dagger but Edmund's hand on his arm eased the tension thrumming through his body.

"Let it go, Peter. We can't prove anything," Edmund murmured.

Peter pursed his lips.

"And I don't feel like arguing with them right now," Edmund added tiredly.

His weary tone convinced Peter to set the matter aside. He focused all his attention instead on visually assessing Edmund. The younger king looked terrible. The remnants of a black eye lent a purple shadow to one eye, and a dark scab crowned his right cheekbone. Lines of fatigue cut grooves beneath his eyes and across his brow, his face was smudged with dirt, and his whole front was saturated with blood.

"Come on. Let's get you cleaned up," Peter said softly, using a gentle hand on Edmund's shoulder blade to steer him to the door.

"So those are the Calormenes then?" Edmund said as the kings walked to Peter's rooms.

Peter merely hummed in agreement.

"I've only been gone a few days and I'm already behind in matters of the court," Edmund joked.

Peter's steps slowed. Edmund noticed and glanced sideways at him. Peter flashed him an unconvincing smile before resuming his normal pace.

"Alright, what's wrong?" Edmund asked, stopping in the hallway.

"It's nothing," Peter denied.

Edmund crossed his arms. "I don't know why you bother doing that. It never works."

"Do what?" Peter asked, pausing at the end of the corridor.

"That," Edmund said, exasperated. "Pretending you're fine."

Peter sighed, shoulders lowering. "Can we talk about it later?"

"Later as in never?" Edmund asked, raising a mistrustful eyebrow.

"As in when we're not standing in the middle of the hallway, covered in blood," Peter corrected.

Edmund dropped his head to apprise his appearance. "That's probably a good idea," he agreed.

Peter nodded and led the way. When they arrived, they found a basin of hot water and a stack of washcloths prepared for them, as well as fresh changes of clothes. Peter knew he had Susan to thank for the provisions, in addition to the privacy they had. It was a relief to be alone in the room, without well-meaning servants interfering, and adding the pressure of maintaining their kingly posture. Opportunities to simply be brothers, without filtering their actions and words, were rare and Peter intended to make the most of this one. He dipped a rag into the warm water, wrung it out and passed it to Edmund. It was gratefully received and put to good use evicting the dirt that had taken up residence on his face for the past few days. With a troubled expression, Peter plunged his hands into the basin, submerging them in the clear water. He scrubbed viciously at them, releasing clouds of red that swirled through the liquid, dying it a pale pink.

"You know, I should probably apologize to Luna," Edmund said suddenly.

"Luna?" Peter repeated, confused. "The Doe?"

"Yes. If she hadn't been escorting me here, she wouldn't have been late for the feast. I'm afraid I rather slowed her down," Edmund explained.

"And if you hadn't, the feast would have ended very differently," Peter countered.

Edmund glanced away, fiddling with the now grimmy washcloth. Picking up a towel, Peter dried his hands, using the action to gather his courage for what he was about to say.

"Edmund-" he began, then stopped abruptly when Edmund's head shot up to stare at him. Swallowing around the large lump in his throat, Peter started over. "Thank you, Edmund."

"For what?" Edmund asked, brows furrowing.

"You saved my life tonight," Peter said softly.

Edmund's eyes skittered away and he cleared his throat. "There's also a pair of Mice I really ought to find. They should be rewarded for their help."

Peter stepped closer. "I'm serious, Ed. If it wasn't for you, I wouldn't be here right now. You saved me. Again."

Edmund had to look away from the intensity of emotion in Peter's gaze. He shrugged, dislodging Peter's hands. "It's what anyone would have done."

"Yet you always seem to be the first one to do it," Peter countered. "And I want you to stop."

That grabbed Edmund's attention. "What?"

"I mean it. You can't keep putting yourself in harm's way-" Peter began.

"Oh. You mean the harm's way that you're in?" Edmund interrupted.

"It's reckless and foolish-" Peter talked over him.

"Really? Those are the words you're using?" Edmund raised his voice.

"-and irresponsible-"

"-that's rich coming from you-"

"One of these days it might just get you killed-"

"Better me than you!"

Peter grabbed Edmund by the shoulders, grip painfully tight, and shook him roughly. "Don't say that! Don't you ever say that!"

Edmund didn't resist, submissive to Peter's manhandling. "Narnia needs her high king more than she could ever need her other one," he argued with resignation.

"That's not true!" Peter shouted. "Aslan crowned all four of us. We are equals."

Edmund shook his head. "High king over all kings. That's you, Peter. It is my greatest joy and my highest honor to serve under you," he said. "Which means it's my duty to protect you, no matter the cost," he added with conviction.

Peter dropped his hands and spun away from him. For a moment, he stood rigid. Then he planted closed fists on the table, rattling the contents. A couple drops of pink water splashed out of the basin. Peter's head sunk low and his breath came in harsh pants.

"Peter…" Edmund sighed.

"That was meant to be my job," Peter said in a quiet voice.

Edmund wisely stayed silent. Finally, Peter turned to face him, the vibrant blue of his eyes faded to gray with dejection.

"I made a promise. And I've done nothing but make a hash of it since we came to Narnia," Peter revealed despondently. "I'm supposed to keep you three safe."

"Maybe before, in London. But this is Narnia," Edmund said. "You have a new purpose now. Instead of just our family, now you have to take care of a whole country. That's a huge responsibility. Let me help by keeping you alive to do it."

Clamping his jaw shut, Peter mutely shook his head.

Recognizing the sign of stubbornness, Edmund chose not to press the issue. He resumed the task of making himself presentable. The events of the last hour had rendered his appearance inappropriate for public viewing and he wanted to rectify the situation. For, though the Wraith had occupied his thoughts for the greater part of the past week, he remembered what holiday it was. He had been unable to participate in the activities leading up to the Feast, but he still wished to celebrate the occasion nonetheless. As he stretched his arms over his head, tugging his soiled tunic off, the freshly healed muscles protested, punishing him with a cramp. He grunted, doubling over as the fit swallowed him. Then there were gentle hands pulling his shirt off, and massaging the seizing muscles until the pain eased. Surprised, Edmund met Peter's teary eyes. Wordlessly, Peter fetched an unused cloth and tenderly wiped the dried blood away. Eventually, the only evidence of his nearly fatal wound was the white of the scars. Peter's fingertips slowly traced the lines across Edmund's abdomen. The three slashes ran perpendicular across his middle from the scar left by the Witch's wand. Edmund tilted his head to examine the collection.

"Is it just me or does it look like an 'E'?" he asked.

A small smile lifted the corner of Peter's lips.

"At least it'll be easier to remember my name," Edmund quipped, chuckling quietly.

Peter joined in, laugh just as subdued. He retrieved Edmund's clean tunic and assisted him as he put it on. Once Edmund was properly attired, Peter unbuckled his sword belt and took off his own stained shirt. The faint traces of amusement left his face and his next words were solemn.

"Ed, I'm sorry I didn't notice sooner that you were missing. I can't believe I thought that monster could have been you." Peter shuddered, even as he donned his new outfit.

Edmund considered the apology thoughtfully for a moment. "Dark magic is a tricky thing. It preys on your real desires. The more you want to believe something is true, the harder it is to spot the deceit. Trust me, I know that better than anyone."

Peter nodded once in appreciation of his words. "There were clues, though," he mentioned.

"Like what?" Edmund asked, curiosity piqued.

"You skipped breakfast, for one," Peter recounted with amusement.

Edmund gasped in faux offense. After laughing quietly at Edmund's antics, Peter's expression softened.

"I promise, from now on, I'll try not to be too overprotective of you," he said.

"We are all in Aslan's paws," Edmund reminded him. "Here," he stuck out his hand. "Let's shake on your promise though, shall we?"

Peter took the offered hand, then used the connection to pull Edmund closer, wrapping his other arm across his brother's shoulders. "I'm glad you're alright, Edmund," he whispered into his brother's dark hair.

Edmund closed his eyes and returned the embrace.

* * *

ChildofGod: Actually, who knows, Peter didn't eat all of it. Maybe there was some poison somewhere... And now all's well that ends well :) *squints at your signature* *wonders if it's actually legible* *takes sharpie and accidentally signs not only the book but your hand as well* Sorry! ;)

NarniaGirl: Thank you! I'm relieved it met your expectations! :D


End file.
